Veela Hell of a Summer Holiday
by Kindle-the-Stars
Summary: Out walking in the summer holidays, Draco comes across none other than Hermione Granger - oh, and he has Veela genes and is nearing his coming-of-age ... fluff, humour and alot of muggle contraptions Draco doesnt understand. Complete! Review or else ...
1. Malfoy Manor

**Liitle introduction, because this is going to be a long fic ...**

**Basically, i wrote this in the summer and it has been sitting on my computer feeling very neglected for a long, while, so i thought it was high time i put it up - which is why everything is set in the summer holidays!**

**It can be a teeny WEEENY bit out-of-cannon in places, so consider yourselves warned here and dont go flaming telling me so. Also, like i said i wrote it in the summer, for my own amusement - it can go drabbly and fluffy in places too!!!**

**Also, i love reviews! =D**

* * *

Draco Malfoy was bored. It was barely two weeks into the summer holidays and already he couldn't wait to get back to school, if only to escape the vast empty Manor. With his father in prison, his mother on holiday in Greece with some friends and only the simpering house-elves for company, Draco had taken to wondering the countryside around the Malfoy estate in Wiltshire.

He frowned to himself as he kicked a stone in his path, knowing that his aimlessness probably wasn't healthy. What he really felt he needed was some sort of intelligent conversation, an exchange where the other participant didn't cringe at his feet and call him 'Sir'. He had even been desperate enough to invite Greg and Vincent to the Manor (not that they would have really helped solve his problem of needing intelligent conversation) but were both on holiday, as was Pansy.

He had decided to stick to countryside paths and fields, not liking to walk though Muggle villages. The first time he had tried that a group of giggling girls about his own age had tried to talk to him. While it had been gratifying, he wasn't about to associate himself with that sort of Muggle filth.

Yet as he was walking beside a small lake he noticed a lone girl lying on a blanket, surrounded by books. She had her face slightly turned away so all he could see was wildly curly brown hair, but still Draco couldn't help but think that she was somehow familiar …

"Shit," he muttered to himself as he recognised the girl – there was only one person he knew who had hair like that.

He stared at her, unable to believe that prim book-worm Granger had been hiding a body like that under her robes, since she was sunbathing wearing a pale blue Muggle bikini (one of the few muggle inventions he could actually appreciate) with her clothes neatly folded beside her among the books.

As he stepped closer he was able to see the books around her – There were several books on villages in Wiltshire and lying to one side were two books that bore the titles _A History of Magic_ and _Magic in Muggle Settlements_.

"Granger?" he asked uncertainly.

She was wearing big sunglasses so Draco couldn't see her eyes. He thought she might be asleep, since she didn't react as he spoke.

"Granger!" he repeated a little louder, now standing right above her.

Again, she didn't move, so he nudged her with the tip of his boot.

She jerked upright and stared at him in horror, instinctively grapping her t-shirt and holding it protectively in front of her. "Malfoy?"

"So it is you, Granger," he drawled, not knowing if he was pleased or disappointed.

She whipped off her sunglasses, revealing her dark brown eyes as she pulled her wand out of her pile of clothes and pointed it up at him. "What the _hell_ are you doing here, Malfoy? Are you stalking me?"

He snorted in disgust. "Don't be ridiculous, Mudblood, I only stalk what I want to catch." A part of him couldn't stop a small smile – he had missed fighting with someone, it was so much more engaging than simply giving orders to cringing house-elves.

"Good, then go away."

"Temper temper, Granger," he admonished her. "Now what are _you_ doing here?"

"You didn't answer my question," she said, pulling her t-shirt over her bikini.

"You didn't answer mine."

She glared at him for a minute. "I live around here."

"You do? Where?"

"Bulkington," she said warily, naming the nearest village, which happened to be within a few miles of the Manor. "And now, what are _you_ doing here?"

"I happen to live near here too, Granger."

"How wonderful, let's hope we never run into each other again," she said bitingly. "Now go away and leave me alone."

She lay back down in what she clearly thought was a dismissive way, but Draco noticed the weird white things coming out of her ears and cursed, not knowing what they were. With his quick Seeker reflexes he jumped forward and pulled them out of her ears.

She sat up suddenly. "What the _hell_ is your problem, Malfoy?" she yelled indigently as he examined the strange white things cautiously, which had odd little circles on the tips.

"You had worms coming out your ears!" he told her, holding the creatures gingerly away from himself as he showed her them.

"It's called an i-pod, Malfoy, and I will thank you not to yank my head phones out of my ears," she said, snatching them back.

"What is an … i-pod?" he asked, still kneeling down beside her. Wordlessly she held up a shiny, blue metal rectangle which the worms were coming out of as her explanation. "And what is that?" he asked when she didn't elaborate further.

She sighed gustily. "It's a Muggle device that plays music."

"I thought Muggles listened to music on radios, like we do, but with Muggle stations?" he said, sitting crossed-legged so he was more comfortable.

"This plays _my_ music."

"You compose?" he asked, impressed despite himself.

"I upload," she replied frostily.

"And what does that mean?" he asked confusedly.

"It means," she said with obviously forced patience, "that this plays only the music that I like."

"But how can that tiny thing play music?"

"Oh, just listen to it," she said irritably, holding it out to him.

He took it cautiously and held the blue thing up to his ear for a moment. "I can't hear anything, its stupid Muggle rubbish."

Granger looked like she was fighting back a laugh. "You have to put the headphones in your ears."

"And these things are the headphones?" he asked, indicating the white cords.

"Yeah, you just put this end bit here in your ear, like this," she said, demonstrating with one of the two wires.

He did as she instructed and was amazed to hear music straight in his head. He took the headphone out and the music stopped, only to start again when he put it back in.

"That's …"

"Not impressed with a Muggle device, are you Malfoy?" she asked slyly.

"No," he said vehemently. "I was just curious."

They were silent for a minute as Draco listened to the woman singing. "Who is this?" he said eventually, indicating the i-pod.

Granger looked at the screen. "Kelly Clarkson"

How many songs are there on here?" he wanted to know.

"Over two-thousand."

"Really? How can you listen to them all?"

"Well what I listen to depends on my mood."

Not quite understanding what she meant, Draco frowned down at the little screen.

Mistaking his expression, Granger plucked the i-pod out of his hands. "If you don't like the song you can listen to another one," she said, twirling her finger around the white circle below the screen. "Here, try that."

The new song was fast and up beat, with much harsher instruments. It was a man singing, or rather shouting, and some of the words were fairly suggestive. Draco smirked, surprised that prim Hermione Granger would listen to such a thing.

"Who is this?"

"'Panic at the Disco'," she said. "I figured they were more your thing."

He couldn't help but agree, enjoying the faster rhythm and drums much more than the other singing woman.

"What's a disco?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Erm … it's where Muggles go to dance."

"And why are people panicking?"

"It's just a band name, Malfoy!" she exclaimed, seemingly torn between annoyance and amusement. "Look at it this way, there is no one called Weird Sister in the Weird Sisters."

Not liking her condescending attitude, he decided to change the subject, glancing around at the books. "What were you doing?"

"Oh, I was working on the History of Magic project for Binns."

"Really?" he said slyly. "It looked like you were sunbathing to me. Not having trouble with your work were you now, Granger?"

"I was just having a break!"

"Well if its any consolation for you, I've already finished mine," he said truthfully, having completed the project their ghost teacher had set the entire year, which was to write about magical events that had happened in your local area, within the first week of the holidays.

Grangers' mouth fell open. "But where did you find the -" She abruptly closed her mouth and looked out over the tiny lake.

Draco laughed as he lay back against her blanket. He was feeling quite proud of himself for figuring out how to change the song that was still playing in his ears, simply by pressing the side of the wheel. "So _that's_ what's wrong, you haven't been able to find anything."

"I'm still in the process of researching," she said through gritted teeth.

"No Hogwarts Library for the little bookworm to run to now is there?" he taunted. "The know-it-all doesn't know something, so she's given up."

"I haven't given up!" she said hotly. "I said that I am still researching."

"I happen to know that there is nothing on Wiltshire in the _History of Magic_ textbook – believe me, I checked - and I doubt there is much in your other book either, so how exactly are you researching?"

"I'm using Muggle books," she said, a note of pride entering her voice. "Several of them mention local myths throughout the ages, so I am basing my project on an investigation to see which myths have factual basis in the magical world."

"That'll never do, Granger," he told her, shaking his head as he changed the song again. "You know full well that Binns hates myths."

"And what would you suggest?" she snapped.

"I suggest that you unbend your pride and ask me where I found my information," he grinned at her, enjoying himself immensely.

Granger clenched her jaw and looked like she was biting her tongue. Finally she said in a falsely sweet voice, "Where did you find your information, Malfoy?"

"The library at Malfoy Manor," he said nonchalantly, watching the frustration in her eyes. He wasn't sure why he was teasing her – manipulating her into asking to come to the manor just to continue a conversation wasn't the same as simply messing with her.

"Come on, Granger," he prompted her playfully. "You know what to ask next."

"May I – please - borrow some books from your library?" she asked aggrievedly, each word coming out with great difficulty.

He pretended to consider it. "What's in it for me?"

"What do you mean?" she said guardedly.

"Well, if I do the highly charitable thing of lending you books, what do I get in return?"

"I don't think you understand the meaning of the word 'charitable' if you think you get something out of it," she muttered under her breath.

"Come on, Mudblood," he said lazily, spreading himself out over her blanket. "What will you do for me?"

She bit her lip and he wondered why that momentarily distracted him. "How about I help you with the Potions essay?"

"I've already finished half of it. And besides, I happen to be good at Potions so I certainly don't require your help."

"What _do_ you want, then?"

He looked at her, letting his eyes run up and down her body. What he really wanted was someone to talk to that wasn't a house-elf – he didn't even mind arguing, even with a filthy Mudblood, just as long as the conversation was engaging.

"How about a favour?" he put to her. "I'm doing you one by lending you the books, so you do me one in return."

"What kind of favour?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

"Hmm, streaking through the Great Hall has its merits … or maybe making you cheer for Slytherin at our next match against Gryffindor …"

"Not going to happen, Malfoy."

"Its called sarcasm, Mudblood – ever heard of it?"

Granger simply glared at him.

"Tell you what; let's just keep it between us. I'll make you do something just for me."

"No way, you pervert!" she shrieked, disgusted.

"Mind out of the gutter, Granger and don't be so revolting – what I _meant_ was I will get you to do something like … I don't know …"

"Well, I'll tell you now, I am _not _doing anything that will hurt others or that is potentially damaging to me."

"Honestly, I'm not _that_ much of a prick," he said, rolling his eyes at her. "No … I want you to have dinner at the manor."

"_What?_"

"You heard me.

"_Why?_"

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Because it will amuse me," he said dryly.

She scrutinised him for a few seconds, no doubt trying to figure out his motives. "I want you to promise I won't be hurt."

"I swear on the honour of my house and family," he said, smirking.

She nodded slowly. "Fine, I'll do it – but not tonight, I already have plans with my family."

"So, do we have an agreement?"

"Okay," she said after only a brief hesitation. She held out her hand towards him to shake.

"Think I would want to shake your hand, Mudblood?" he drawled as he climbed to his feet. She looked up at him and he thought he saw a flash of hurt in her eyes before her expression turned unreadable.

"But you -"

"Chop chop, Granger," he said. "Let's go and get the books."

"Now?"

"You got anything better to do?"

"Err, no not really -"

"Then let's go."

Still looking slightly stunned, she piled her books together and started packing up her things. Draco waited as she wiggled into her denim shorts and rolled up her blanket, packing everything into a small backpack.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Erm, yes?"

"Good, come on then," he said as he strode away with her i-pod still plugged into his ears.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you being nice to me – well, sort of?" she asked bluntly, jogging to catch up with his long strides.

He spun around, Grangers nose practically banging into his chest as he stopped abruptly. "Let's get one thing straight right now," he said firmly. "I am not being nice to you."

Her chin jerked up slightly. "I think lending me books and inviting me to dinner counts as being nice."

"No, it doesn't. We made a deal and that counts as being civil to another member of the Wizarding community – not that you really even fit into that."

He turned dismissively away from her and started walking again.

"And what about your parents?" she called after him. "Surely they wouldn't want you bringing such an _inferior creature_ to the house."

"Merlin Granger, I thought you were supposed to be intelligent – surely you know that my Father is in Azkaban?" he said, dodging the question.

She rolled her eyes. "And what about your Mother?"

"On holiday."

"So you're on your own?"

"What's it to you?"

"Just curious," she said, but he noticed her wary expression and snorted in disgust.

"Don't fret Granger, I'm not luring you back to my house so I can pounce on you or anything like that. As if I would want to – filthy Mudblood."

She didn't rise to his bait and insult him back, choosing instead to raise her chin in the air and keep walking. They were silent for a while, until Draco looked confusedly down at the i-pod.  
"Why has the music stopped?"

Granger leaned over and examined the screen before taking it out of his hands and whirling her finger around the dial. "You reached the end of the album. Here, try this."

Draco liked the new band, My Chemical Romance, better than the first and was soon nodding his head to the rhythm, paying no attention to Granger as they walked in silence.

"How far away is your house, anyway?" she asked after a while.

"You see that line of hedges over there?" he said, pointing forwards. "That's where the grounds start and after that it's another mile or so up to the main house."

She nodded to herself and pulled an odd silver contraption out of her pocket and pressed the buttons. She continued this for several moments, decisively ignoring him until his curiosity got the better of him.

"What stupid Muggle thing are you using now?" he asked, hiding his interest with scorn.

"It's a phone."

"Don't you have to talk into phones?"

"They can also send messages, like mini letters – its called texting."

"Why not use an owl?"

"Do you _see_ any owls around here, Malfoy?"

"Who are you … _texting?_ Potter? Are you telling him that you've been kidnapped by the big bad Slytherin Prince?"

She looked at him coldly. "My mother, telling her I will be home later than I thought."

"I bet you added where you would be though, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," she said unashamedly. "I don't trust you."

"Good, you shouldn't."

* * *

The gates of the Malfoy estate were huge and imposing, made of wrought iron and flanked by tall hedges. Hermione stared up at them as they approached, wondering what she had gotten herself into and if it was worth it simply for a few books – then again this project did partially count towards their final grades, and she wasn't going to fail simply because she had been to nervous to pass up a research opportunity.

Instead of pulling out a key, like she expected, he grabbed her upper arm wordlessly and marched her _through_ the gate as if it was no more substantial than smoke. She felt the magic of the wards rush through her body, and understood that Malfoy's touch was stopping them from attacking her. He let go of her the moment they were through, much to her relief.

She couldn't help a gasp as she saw the huge gothic manor house in the distance. It had to be at least half the size of Hogwarts castle and was made entirely out of handsome, pearly grey stone that contrasted artistically with the sloping lawns. Yet despite its beauty the vast house with its arched windows, criss-crossed with diamond shaped panels, exuded a sense of emptiness.

"Like it?" Malfoy smirked as he noticed her stunned expression.

"I think it's the second most beautiful building I have ever seen," she said honestly since there was something oddly mesmerising about the sight.

"I agree," he replied, shocking her slightly. He caught her sideways glance and continued, "Hogwarts is better, don't you think?"

"That's exactly what I was thinking."

They made their way slowly up the long driveway as Hermione admired the house. The lawns were manicured and flawless, interspersed with various fountains and flowerbeds, though in the distance she could see the grounds dissolving into wild groves of trees and forest.

She couldn't help but wonder why Malfoy had invited her back, and made their agreement about her coming for dinner. After hearing about his parents absence she had come to the conclusion that he must simply be lonely, craving the company of other Wizards and Witches – even if they were muggleborns.

After several minutes walking they ascended the steps to the front of the manor and Malfoy pushed open the door, which was unlocked.

The entryway was huge and spacious, stone floor covered in rich rugs. The main colour theme seemed to be green and silver, making Hermione smirk. There was a huge staircase to one side which Malfoy was halfway up before he realised she wasn't following and called her name.

"Honestly Granger, stop gawking and hurry up!"

The hallways were wide and full of light from the hundreds of windows. The walls were covered in portraits of smiling people, and she wondered if they would still be smiling if they knew she was a Muggleborn. Judging by the way they waved and greeted her, they assumed that anyone a Malfoy bought home would be pure-blooded. She guessed that they were mostly portraits of Malfoy's family since they shared his white blond hair, and she couldn't help but notice that they were all extremely beautiful.

"You know, I think you might have some Veela in you," she told him as a woman with a sheet of silvery blonde hair, which somehow seemed to ripple with light even in the paint, smiled at her.

Malfoy turned around, looking highly amused as he walked backwards down the hall. "I do."

"Really?"

"The Malfoy line is the only pure-blooded family to have Veela blood. It's what makes me so stunningly attractive," and then he actually _winked_ at her.

"Right," she said sceptically. "So what does that involve, having Veela blood?"

He shrugged and spun around, walking normally side by side again. "No idea, I don't know if I have the dominant gene."

"How would you find out?"

"If I go crazy on my seventeenth birthday and start looking for a mate it's generally a pretty strong indication that I do have the genes."

There was a brief pause.

"Are you being serious?"

"Uh huh," he said.

"When is your birthday?"

"September," he replied, absentmindedly rolling up the sleeves of his shirt – she couldn't help glancing at his forearms, and was relieved not to see the Dark Mark. It was odd to see him in Muggle clothing, though the dark jeans and a plain white shirt that he was wearing were obviously from designer origin.

"What did you mean by 'look for a mate'?"

He looked over at her and smirked. "Well well well, don't tell me know-it-all Miss Mudblood doesn't know something," he drawled. "I thought you would have thought that you would have come across Veelas in all of your obsessive reading."

"Well I know that they normally have one mate, and that they stay faithful," she retorted, struggling not to let his superior tone get to her. "But what I really wanted to know was how they actually find them."

"Don't know."

She blinked at him. "Well you seem _very_ well informed, considering it might actually happen to you," she said sarcastically.

"Whatever, Granger," he drawled as he pushed open a set of highly polished double wooden doors. "Besides, _this_ is what you were really interested in, wasn't it?"

The room was spacious, with a high ceiling and was full of light from the huge windows. There were hundreds of rows of shelves, all of them covered in the largest collection of books she had ever seen outside of Hogwarts.

She followed Malfoy through the Library, trailing her fingertips lightly over the lacquered wood of the bookshelves. He led her to a secluded corner, with a small round table that was scattered with books.

"There, those are the books I used – you're lucky I didn't put them away or you would be looking for them yourself."

Hermione wasn't paying attention though, having noticed a painting hanging at the far end of the Library. It was two children playing, and one of them was obviously Draco. The other child was a girl with the same blonde hair that fell into loose, angelic ringlets. They were laughing happily together as they played around on a huge, painted green lawn.

"Who is she?" Hermione asked quietly, her eyes on the painting.

Malfoy turned around and stiffened as he saw what she was looking at, a dark shadow seeming to pass over his features.

"Nobody."

"Malfoy, I don't -"

"I said she is nobody, alright Mudblood?" he snarled at her, his grey eyes flashing dangerously.

Taken back, she simply stared back at him as he glowered at her. She didn't like to admit it, even to herself, but the fury in his stormy eyes made her feel a little frightened. After a long moment his anger subsided, and he looked more vulnerable than she had ever seen him.

"She's my sister," he said in a soft voice.

"I didn't know you had a sister," she said cautiously, not wanting to anger him again.

"I don't." He was looking out of one of the big windows, though his eyes were curiously empty and dead looking – a haunted expression.

"What happened to her?"

"What do you _think_ happened to her?" he demanded, his head whipping around like a dog catching a scent.

When Hermione didn't answer he stepped closer, his eyes now blazing. "Don't ask questions you don't want answered, Mudblood, because I assure you if you ask, I will spare you no detail. Now, do you _really_ want to know what happened to my _dear_ sister?"

She shook her head mutely.

"Wise choice, Granger," he said, his eyes emotionless again. He looked down at the table and then ran his fingers though his hair, leaving it dishevelled. "Look through the books and decide which ones you want to borrow, then come and find me, alright?"

Without waiting for a reply, he turned around and started walking out of the Library.

"What was her name?" she asked his retreating figure.

He paused, and she thought she heard him sigh wistfully. "Lyra," he murmured without looking back.

And with that, he left.

It took Hermione nearly twenty minutes to sort her way through the books that had been meticulously piled on the table since her eyes were constantly drawn to the picture of the children. She didn't want to think about what could have possibly happened to that innocent looking girl to bring out such a strong reaction in emotionless, unshakable Malfoy – the ice cold Slytherin prince.

She had eventually divided the books into three piles; the ones she wanted, the ones she needed and the ones she needed but couldn't carry.

Frustrated, but still much happier with her History of Magic project than she had been before, she headed to find Malfoy, gazing longingly over her shoulder at the Library behind her. She had wanted to explore further, but had decided not to without permission – after all, who knew what kind of books could be hidden in the Malfoy family Library.

She paused at the door, wondering where exactly she should start searching in this huge monstrosity of a house. She wandered down a corridor, trying to make her way back to the huge entryway they had come though earlier, but soon realised that she was thoroughly lost.

"Excuse me?" she asked one of the portraits, a kindly looking old man who turned around and smiled at her as she spoke.

"How may I help you, young lady?" the portrait said politely.

"I'm looking for Mal – I mean, Draco. Do you know where he is?"

"I think he went to the ballroom," he replied while Hermione gaped – they have a _ballroom?_ Then again, she wasn't really surprised, considering the size of this place.

"Could you tell me how …?"

"How to get there? Certainly, of course – you simply follow this corridor and then take the left turning towards the west wing. The other pictures will help you if you cannot find it," he said kindly.

"Thank you very much." She smiled at the portrait and he waved back – apparently not all Malfoy's were bad, just as long as they didn't know you were muggleborn.

Following his advice, Hermione made her way down the ornate hallways. As she walked soft music begun to reach her ears. She stopped to listen to it, and realised it was a piano being played with undeniable skill. Moving closer to the sound, she identified the tune as some sort of melancholy waltz, though it was not one that she had heard before.

Locating the door through which the music was coming through, she pressed her ear against it. After listening for a minute she pushed it open and gasped to find herself in a huge, fairytale-esque ballroom complete with a sparking chandelier and a small podium upon which rested a beautiful grand piano that Malfoy was playing.

He hadn't noticed her at first, his grey eyes focused on the keys as his long, pale fingers flew over them. As he played he didn't look arrogant or conceited, instead he was seemed serious and somehow older than he was.

He bought the music to a gentle stop and raised his gaze to her. For a long moment he simply held her gaze, but then a slow smirk spread across is face.

"About bloody time, Mudblood."

"Malfoy," she retorted coldly, any illusion of him being anything other than a prat shattering with his drawling voice. She walked towards the piano, the books balanced in her hands. "I didn't know you could play the piano."

"There's a lot that you don't know about me, Granger, and I would prefer to keep it that way."

She placed her books on top of the piano next to her i-pod, which he had obviously left there and lightly pressed down a single key, filling the room with a clear, high note that slowly faded.  
"Do you play?" Malfoy asked suddenly, avoiding her eyes.

"Thought we weren't finding out things about each other?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.

"We aren't," he muttered.

"Chopsticks."

"What?"

"I can play Chopsticks."

"What the hell is Chopsticks, Granger?" Malfoy asked, looking at her like she was crazy.

She gestured for him to move over, which he did reluctantly and joined him on the piano stool. Holding both hands over the keys, she began to play Chopsticks using only her index fingers.

Malfoy started to laugh, not a sneer or a snigger, but a true, genuine laugh as he joined her in the harmony line. "Honestly Granger, who _can't_ play the Chop Waltz?"

She sighed. "I thought _you_ might not be able to, since it's a muggle piece."

"A lot of the time muggles are the best composers," he said, surprising her.

"You really think so?"

"Yeah, Wizards tend to try and be too clever – adding stupid noises and ridiculous chords, claiming that it all means something if you use an Arithmancy equation on the notes, but muggles just go for whatever sounds best," he said as they drew the duet to a close.

"I should go," she said as the last notes faded.

"Is that all you need?" he asked, indicating the pile of books.

"No, but it's all I could carry."

Malfoy shrugged and wordlessly stood up, leading her out of a glass door and into the gardens. There was a small, shaded patio with wrought iron chairs and table painted a faded white and a swing seat half obscured by climbing white roses with half blown blooms.

A low slithering noise made her look up, and she jumped backwards as she saw a gigantic snake hanging down from one of the trees, its beady eyes fixed on her as its tongue flickered.

"Something wrong?" Malfoy asked amusedly, having noticed the direction of her stare.

"You have a pet _snake_?" She laughed shakily, steadily recovering from the shock and took a step closer to examine the snake. It had to be over twelve feet long and its scaly skin was splotched green and brown.

"Yeah …" he said, looking at her funnily. "You … you're not afraid of him?"

She gave him a patronising look. "You seem to forget that I was petrified by a basilisk at the tender age of twelve, - so no, I am not afraid of this little worm."

He snickered. "Pansy was. She ran in the house and refused to come out for ages."

"I'm not surprised, it is pretty big."

"_Him_, Granger, not _it_," he said reproachfully.

"Sorry, what's _his_ name?"

Malfoy suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Well, bear in mind I got him when I was only five," he said.

Hermione started to smile at his embarrassment. "What's his name?" she repeated.

He sighed. "Hissy."

"_Hissy?_"

"Hissy," he said, nodding sombrely.

She grinned at him. "My, you were an imaginative child."

"Living around here, I had to be."

* * *

"How are you going to get home?" Draco asked as he walked Granger to the driveway. "Did you want to use the Floo?"

"In case you've forgotten, I live in a muggle house that isn't connected to the Floo network," she reminded him. "I'll just walk."

Draco sighed. "I'll get my broom."

"Didn't you hear me? I said I would walk."

"I heard you, but I chose not to pay attention. You can't walk the five or so miles to the village with a stack of books."

"I can. I'll be fine, it's not that far," she insisted. "Besides, you can't fly a broom to a muggle village."

"It's a new model of broomstick, has a built in invisibility charm – unfortunately it's against the rules for Quidditch, but it's handy for transport."

She bit her lip. "I would really rather walk."

Draco rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. Immediately a house-elf appeared at his feet wearing a tea-towel stamped with the Malfoy crest.

"Yes Master Draco?" the elf asked with a low bow.

"Bring me my broomstick," he ordered, and the elf disapparated with a loud crack, only to reappear two seconds later.

"Anything else Master Draco?" the house-elf asked, proffering the broom.

"No, you're dismissed."

The elf bowed once again to him, and then to Granger before disapparating again.

He mounted the broom and looked over at Granger, who was eyeing it apprehensively.

"Well get on," he said impatiently.

"I honestly don't mind walking," she said hesitantly.

He stared at her incredulously for a long moment, and then burst out laughing. "You're afraid of flying!"

"I am not!" she exclaimed, though her face flushed an appealing red.

"You are!"

"Am not!"

"I can't believe that Miss Mudblood, the all knowing Hermione Granger and big brave Gryffindor lioness is afraid of _flying_," he taunted. "How can you be scared of a broomstick and not a huge snake?"

"I am not afraid," she said thorough gritted teeth.

"Prove it," he challenged, grinning.

Left with no other option she got on the back of his broom behind him with bad grace, muttering something about 'stubborn Slytherins'. She had her bag on her back, so Draco took the stack of books and balanced them on his knees – he was competent enough to fly one handed and keep the other on top of the books to stop them falling.

"Better hold on tight, Mudblood," he said over his shoulder, kicking off hard from the ground.

He heard Granger gasp as they shot in the air, her arms wrapping tight around him as she held on for dear life.

Deciding to have some fun, he accelerated as fast as the broom would allow, shooting over the green lawns of the grounds. She moaned behind him, her small hands bunched in the material of his t-shirt. He laughed as he turned the broom upside down, letting the wind blow through his hair.

"Don't _do_ that!" Granger said from behind him as he rightened the broom.

"What, _this?_" he shouted back, pulling the broom into a loop-de-loop.

She buried her face in the back of his t-shirt and didn't reply.

Seeing her village in the distance, he bought the broom into a steep, yet perfectly controlled dive. As they rocketed towards the ground Granger shrieked, "Draco, stop!"

Chuckling, he levelled them out about two meters above the ground on the outskirts of the village, and it was only then that he realised she had called him Draco and not Malfoy.

"Where is your house?"

"That way," she said, pointing with a shaking finger.

Following her directions, he landed the broom in the back garden of a tiny white cottage with a thatched roof. There were tiny shuttered windows painted a faded blue and honeysuckle clinging to the side of the house.

"Nice house," he said honestly, thinking it was much more homely than the manor.

Granger ignored his comment, scrambling off the back of his broom. "I am _never_ flying with you ever again," she said, though her voice still shook.

"Come on, it wasn't that bad," he teased.

"Goodbye Malfoy," she said acidly.

With his lightening quick Seeker reflexes Draco's hand flashed out and plucked the small silver device from the pocket of her shorts as she leaned forward to grab the books.

"See you again soon, Granger," he said, putting the muggle object, the 'phone', she had called it, in one of his pockets without her noticing.

"Whatever Malfoy," she said moodily, glaring at him. "I'll return these in a few days."

She turned around and headed towards the little house without a backward glanced, the books stacked precariously in her arms. Draco smirked at her back, knowing he would see her that sooner than that when he 'returned' the phone she had accidentally left in his house.

"'Those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends,'" he quoted to himself, smiling as he kicked off from the ground and raised the broom into the air.


	2. Truce

Draco dismounted his broom and stared up at the tiny cottage. He had Grangers 'phone' in his pocket and was carrying a stack of books in one hand, while he ran the other though his windblown blond hair. After hiding his broomstick in the bushes of her front garden he walked up the garden path and, with one last look down at his outfit (muggle jeans and a black t-shirt) he knocked on the painted green door.

He had been up since dawn and had spent the early hours of the morning wandering aimlessly around the Manor. His feet had taken him to the Library, where he found the books Granger had been looking through. They had been stacked into two piles, one of them with important texts, while the others were pointless background information that hadn't been much help to him while he had been doing the project himself.

Remembering what she had said about not being able to carry all the ones she had needed, he had decided to bring them to her when he 'returned' the phone.

To be honest he would be glad to be rid of the stupid muggle contraption. He knew that muggles used them to talk to each other and 'text', as Granger had put it, though he didn't understand how it worked. His examination of it the night before hadn't revealed any details, only frustrating him as the little screen constantly read 'keypad locked' whenever he tried to press any buttons.

To make matters worse, the damn thing had started making ringing noises on and off all morning, the screen flashing 'Home calling' and refusing to shut up, even when he shouted at it.

He heard footsteps from within the house and the door was opened by a man with brown hair. He was wearing very odd clothes, all white with a badge pinned onto the top reading 'Dr P Granger'. His dark eyes, very similar to his daughters, flicked up and down Draco.

"Can I help you?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"Yes, I'm looking for Gra-I mean, Hermione," Draco replied, feeling slightly uncomfortable talking to a muggle.

"I'm afraid you've just missed her, she's gone to work," Dr Granger told him.

"Work?" he repeated stupidly.

"Who is it, Paul?" a feminine voice said from within the house. A moment later a woman with very curly hair appeared in the doorway, wearing similar white clothes to her husband. She smiled warmly when she saw Draco. "Hello, and who might you be?"

"Draco Malfoy, I go to Hermione's school," he said with forced politeness, remembering the lessons his father had drilled into him on etiquette and decorum.

"Oh, you're the boy she borrowed the books from yesterday," Mrs Granger said, smiling.

"Yes, and I wanted to drop these off too," he said uncertainly, raising the stack of books. "She mentioned that she might need them, but couldn't carry them all."

"That's very thoughtful of you, Draco," she said, taking the books. "Thank you."

"Also, she left this behind." He pulled the 'phone' out of his pocket.

Dr Granger laughed. "I told her it would turn up, she was looking for it everywhere."

"She's just gone down to the café to set up if you wanted to go give it to her," Mrs Granger told him.

"Thank you, which café is that?"

"It's next to the country park, just follow Church Street down to the river and it's the first on the left," she said.

"Thanks very much," Draco said, turning around after one last, slightly forced smile. Grangers parents had been nice and perfectly polite, but there was no hiding the fact that they were, well, _muggles_.

Following Mrs Grangers instructions, Draco walked down the street towards the country park, leaving his broom in the bushes since no muggles would be able to see it anyway. It was still fairly early in the morning, not eleven o'clock yet, so there weren't very many people around.

After nearly ten minutes walking, he stopped beside a small sign proclaiming 'Bulkington County Park and Wildlife Preserve'. Beyond was a huge lake that looked to be full of ducks and several acres of fields, while to one side there was a large wooden cabin that was imaginatively called 'Country Park Café', inside which he could hear someone singing.

He made his way slowly up the rickety ramp to the door, listening to the voice. Peering through one of the windows he saw a room set up with a dozen tables and a long counter at the far end. Granger was flitting between the tables, wiping them all with a damp cloth as she sang to herself.

Draco pushed open the door to the café and leant against the doorframe, watching her work. She was wearing a form fitting green blouse with a small white tree printed on it, the logo of the café, with a knee length, black ruffled skirt. It took her nearly a full minute to realise he was there.

"Malfoy!" she exclaimed when she finally saw him, visibly jumping in the air and dropping the cloth on the floor.

"Don't stop singing on my account Granger," he drawled. "You're actually pretty good for a Mudblood."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her surprise being replaced by annoyance.

"I came to return this," he said, pulling the 'phone' out of his pocket and tossing it at her.

She gapped at it. "I've been looking for this all day; I kept ringing and ringing it trying to find where I had put it."

"Is that why it wouldn't shut up?"

"Where did you get it?" she asked, looking up at him again.

"You left it at the Manor," he lied smoothly, feigning a look of exasperation.

Her gaze turned shrewd. "Funny. I thought I remembered having it in my pocket when we left," she said suspiciously.

Draco raised a single eyebrow, but didn't reply.

"How did you know where I worked?" Granger asked to break the silence when she realised that he wasn't going to speak.

"You're parents told me. I went by your house looking for you and also left some of the other books that you wanted."

"The ones from the Library?"

He nodded.

"Well, thanks, I guess …" she said, looking at him a little oddly.

"No problem. What were you doing anyway?"

"I was cleaning up for when we open – which means that you can't be in here."

"Why not?" he asked.

"We're closed," she said sounding a little irate. "If my boss comes in and finds you here I'll get in trouble."

"But I'm talking to you," he said, highly affronted that she was trying to make him leave.

"Yes, but your not allowed to. You have to go away."

"Make me," he challenged.

She glared at him when he didn't move, and then, placing her hands on his chest, started trying to push him physically out of the door while Draco laughed at her feeble attempts.

"Hermione?"

"Amelia!" she exclaimed, staring in shock at the girl who had just appeared in the doorway.

She was wearing a similar uniform to Grangers, though her hair was long and a dark blonde. Her face was full of freckles, though it only made her look sweet and pretty instead of being disfiguring the way The Weasel's were. She was looking between the two of them with her big blue eyes and raised an eyebrow at Granger, who quickly dropped her hands from his chest.

"So 'Mione, who's your _friend_?" she asked, coming into the room.

"He's not my friend," Granger replied quickly.

"Damn straight," he muttered under his breath.

"Jeez Hermione, how can you not tell me you have a boyfriend?" Amelia asked, misunderstanding what they had meant.

"He's not my boyfriend either!" Granger said almost frantically.

"Really?"

"Trust me, I would never go out with some one like him."

"In case you haven't noticed, _'Mione_, I'm standing right next to you," Draco reminded her acidly, not liking being talked about as if he wasn't there.

"Don't call me that," she snapped at him.

"Honestly _'Mione_," he said to annoy her further. "Where are your manners? Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"I'd really rather not," she muttered, and then said at her normal volume. "Amelia, this is Draco Malfoy, Malfoy, this is Amelia Carmichael."

"Pleased to meet you, Draco," Amelia said politely. "'Mione, we are opening in a minute so you might want to put the cleaning stuff away," she pointed out.

"Damn," Granger said, noticing the collection of sprays and cloths on the counter. "I'll be back in a minute, and _you_ -" she said, addressing Draco, "- better behave yourself while I'm gone."

"What do you take me for, _'Mione_?"

"Stop calling me that!" she hissed, grapping the box of cleaning supplies and stomping through a door behind the counter.

Left alone with the muggle girl, Draco smiled vaguely at her and sank down into one of the chairs by the window, waiting for Granger to come back so he could tease her some more.

"So where did you and Hermione meet?" Amelia asked as she fiddled with the buttons of a huge silver machine behind the counter.

"We go to the same school," he replied cautiously, not wanting to talk to a muggle about Hogwarts.

"… So you go to school together, but you aren't friends or even going out?"

"Sounds about right."

"If you don't mind me asking then, what are you to her?"

"The proverbial thorn in her side?" he suggested sarcastically.

"Seriously, I'm curious," she said, now holding a coffee cup beneath the machine.

"Well, we're in different houses, so we don't really talk much or get on very well." Massive understatement, though the muggle girl didn't need to know that.

"Why is that?"

Damn, she certainly was a curious one, are all muggles this nosy? He wondered.

"We sort of have one of those love to hate each other relationships."

She nodded, "Right, I understand – you love to hate each other and you absolutely hate that you love each other."

"Exactly – wait, what?"

"You said it, not me." She smirked down at the second cup she was filling with hot coffee.

"I most certainly do not love her," Draco said uncomfortably – Malfoy's should never be flustered by a silly muggle. "In fact, I hate her!"

"Then why did you come and visit her?"

"I didn't!" Draco said indigently, not liking the assumptions this muggle girl was making. "We only found out yesterday that we live near each other."

"Malfoy, stop talking to her," Granger said, reappearing through the door and grabbing the coffee mug Amelia offered her without meeting his eyes, making him wonder how much of the conversation she had heard. "I don't want you to corrupt her innocence."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Honestly Granger, you make me out to be some sort of prick."

"You are," she said, blowing on the top of her coffee.

"Thanks," he said dryly.

Amelia had her back turned, straightening the tea display, so he took the opportunity to mouth 'Mudblood' at her.

She frowned, but then ignored him, continuing to set up for when the café opened.

* * *

"'Mione, he is absolutely gorgeous!" Amelia breathed in her ear as Hermione tried to concentrate on making the Cappuccino for the middle aged man at the counter.

"I think he is a little old for you," she muttered back, casting a look at the older man who was currently staring at her chest.

Amelia hit her playfully on the arm, almost making her spill the drink. "You _know_ who I mean."

"I honestly don't," she lied, refusing to let he eyes wander over to the table by the window where a certain blond Slytherin was sitting.

Malfoy had stubbornly refused to leave when she had asked him to again, instead requesting a menu and was now drinking a black coffee with one sugar, which she had actually had to _serve_ to him while resisting the temptation to throw it in his smirking face.

"Yes you do!" Amelia insisted.

"Who, Malfoy?" she asked innocently as she frothed the milk.

"Duh, who else? I swear his t-shirt is from Hugo Boss."

"Probably is, he is filthy rich."

"Even better! Will you bring him to that nightclub opening next weekend?"

"Definitely not."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't like him!"

Amelia was quiet for a moment, obviously thinking.

"Do you think his hair is dyed?" she asked eventually.

"No, it's just that blond naturally," Hermione replied, thinking of his Veela heritage.

"His eyes are a lovely grey …" Amelia fished, obviously hoping for a reaction.

"Yeah, lovely like rain-clouds."

"Come on, 'Mione, don't you think he is good-looking?"

"Hello? You have been going out with Josh for over a year now, what are you doing ogling other attractive men?"

"Ah hah! So you admit you think he is attractive!"

She rolled her eyes at her friends' antics. "I didn't say that."

"You did!"

Hermione successfully ignored her for about two minutes while she gave the man his coffee and took his money, but then it was back to the interrogation.

"Spill, what is there between the two of you?"

"Absolutely nothing," she replied, slamming the till with a little more force than she had intended.

"Why not?"

"Because he's a prat!"

"I have trouble believing that," Amelia said, glancing over at him.

"Trust me, its true. He is a total git to me at school."

"Well I think he likes you," she giggled.

"What?"

"I think he _likes_ you."

"What on earth gave you that idea?" Hermione demanded.

"Just the way he was talking about you while you were gone," Amelia said in a slightly dreamy voice. "And he came down here to see you and, in case you hadn't noticed, he has spent the past hour and a half staring at you over the top of his newspaper."

Hermione glanced over at Malfoy, and sure enough he was sipping his coffee and staring down at a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in his hands which bore the headline _Secrets leaked from Department of Mysteries_.

"Can you take this next customer?" she asked Amelia, who started serving the two old ladies who were dithering over which cakes to chose from.

Hermione, meanwhile, stalked across the café to Malfoy and snatched the paper out of his hands, hitting him over the head with it a few times.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, you stupid Mudblood?" he hissed at her, his eyes flashing dangerously as he grabbed his paper again.

"I could ask you the same question, you're reading a _magical_ newspaper in a muggle café, you twit," she whispered back.

He rolled his eyes. "Those two old biddies will be cooing over the ducks, your friend is busy gossiping with you and the man over there is simply eyeing the two of you up. No one cares what I'm reading."

"It's irresponsible though, what if someone saw a picture move?"

He flattened the paper on the table, and she saw that none of the pictures were moving. "It's enchanted, I'm not _completely_ stupid, Granger."

"Could have fooled me," she said acidly, heading back to the counter.

"Oh, and Granger?" he called after her, making her reluctantly turn around to face him. "Bring me another coffee."

* * *

Hermione's shift that day was turning out to be one of the longest in her life. Amelia had to leave at one o'clock, so she was left doing double duty for an hour until Ben showed up. Normally she wouldn't have minded, but after having to concentrate on not looking at Malfoy, cleaning up a shattered mug and nursing a rapidly growing blister on her forefinger from a rushed steamed-milk job, she was beginning to feel a little frazzled.

So, needless to say, she was very annoyed when Matt, the server who was supposed to be taking over for her at two o'clock when her shift ended, was late – again.

To make matters worse she had made the mistake of telling Malfoy that she would be able to leave work at two, so he had been complaining that she was making him stay in a muggle place longer than necessary, to which she had bristled, "I'm not making you stay!"

Malfoy, however, had simply raised a sardonic eyebrow and innocently enquired, "But if I left, then who would I annoy?"

When Matt finally walked in at twenty passed two looking like he had just rolled out of bed, with his shirt half unbuttoned and his brown hair messy, Hermione couldn't stop a tart, "You're late."

"Don't start with me, Hermione, I over slept," he snapped at her, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Malfoy lower the newspaper he was rereading for the third time, his eyes hard.

"It's nearly two thirty in the afternoon!" she said incredulously.

"Don't you think I know that?"

"Look Matt," she said in her most reasonable voice. "When your late it means I have to stay here longer, so I would appreciate it if -"

"I said, _don't start!_" he repeated, obviously frustrated with her.

"Fine," she said coolly, picking up her bag to leave. "I won't say anything."

"Bitch," Matt muttered under his breath.

Malfoy, who had silently stalked up behind Hermione, grabbed the front of Matt's t-shirt and shoved him roughly against the counter.

"No one calls Hermione Granger names but me, alright?" he snarled, his face only inches from Matt's.

Hermione simply gaped at him, while Matt looked highly affronted.

"Jeez mate, what's your problem -"

Malfoy pulled him forward and then shoved him back again harder, causing him to yelp in pain.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" she asked, shocked at his behaviour.

"He called you a bitch, so now he is going to apologise," he said in a dangerous voice.

"Like hell!" Matt protested, only to be cut off as Malfoy wrapped a single hand around his neck.

His face at that moment was the single most menacing sight Hermione had seen in her life, and that was counting a mountain troll intent on killing her and a basilisk. He seemed far paler than normal and, strangest off all, his eyes appeared to be completely black, burning like molten coals.

"Malfoy, your eyes …" she whispered, horrified.

"Hermione - get him - off me!" Matt choked, his nails scrabbling frantically at Malfoy's hand, which was holding his throat in an iron grip.

"You're hurting him!" she cried, pulling out her wand.

Malfoy's hand loosened a fraction at the sound of her voice and his black eyes flickered to her momentarily.

"Please," she added desperately, not wanting to have to use magic on him.

He reluctantly drew back his hand and Matt collapsed at his feet in a heap.

"You're not worth the time to kill, you pathetic piece of muggle filth," he said in a monotonous voice. "If you ever so much as _think_ about calling her names again, you will answer to me."

"Matt, are you alright?" she asked worriedly, kneeling down beside him.

"Your boyfriend's crazy!" Matt whimpered, rubbing his neck. "You keep him away from me."

"Come on, Granger," Malfoy said, staring disgustedly down at Matt on the floor. "We're leaving."

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the door, slamming it shut behind him.

"Matt, I -" But under his accusing glare she couldn't think what to say, so she picked up her things and fled the café.

Malfoy was halfway down the road, walking with his hands in his pockets.

"Hey!" she shouted, but he didn't turn around. She ran down the road to catch up with him. "Malfoy!"

"What, Granger?" he snarled, turning to face her.

"What the hell was that in there?" she demanded, coming level with him.

"He called you a bitch."

"So you just decided to go schitzo and try to throttle him to death?"

"He deserved it," he growled, his eyes some how darkening further. The normal grey of his iris's had been completely burned away by the black until they merged with his pupils. The sight seemed to rob her of her anger, leaving her mesmerised by the blackness.

"Merlin Draco, what's wrong with your eyes?" she said, captivated by their hypnotic quality.

He cocked his head to one side, reminding her of a bird that had just seen a worm. "What about them?" he asked.

"They … they're completely black."

"They are?"

"Yeah …"

He tensed when she thoughtlessly cupped his face and tilted it towards the sunlight to see them better.

"I feel … so strange," he whispered to her, keeping very still under her touch. "What's happening to me?"

"I don't know," she replied, enthralled by the obsidian colour of the eyes that were hungrily sweeping over her face. Definitely not human …

"I just felt so angry …" he said dazedly, tilting his head to one side. "I don't know what came over me, but the second that muggle brat walked in that café I wanted to snap him in half..."

"But _why?_"

"He called you a bitch," he repeated, his jaw clenching.

"But why should that bother you?" she asked, desperately trying to understand.

"I don't know, it just did …"

"Do you think this is a Veela thing?"

"Maybe," he dreamily, his eyes drifting closed.

"Open them," she said, tracing her fingertips over the eyelids. "I want to see."

He did as she asked, and she saw that the black had faded to a dark, swirling grey, his normal colour returning.

"Are they back to normal?" he asked.

"Yeah …"

Realising that she was still cupping his face, she lowered her hands. Malfoy reached up and, almost bemusedly, touched his cheek.

"I'm sure I remember reading something about black eyes, but I can't think where …"

"Hogwarts Library?" he asked sarcastically.

Hermione smiled at him, "Probably."

Malfoy stared at her a moment and his eyes, still darker than normal, made her feel both nervous and very strange. He broke eye contact and stared down at the ground.

"This all feels so … wrong," he muttered to himself, sounding confused.

He seemed so lost, so different to his normal self that Hermione couldn't stop herself from reaching out to him.

"Come on," she said, jerking her head toward the road. "I know something that will make you feel better."

"Oh yeah? And what's that?"

"Lunch."

"Granger, what the hell are these?" Draco asked, holding up a bright yellow packet he had just found in one of the draws in her kitchen.

"Quavers," she replied, glancing at the packet as she rummaged around for some glasses.

"Come again?"

"Quavers."

"And what are Quavers?"

"They're crisps."

"… And what are crisps?"

She giggled and grabbed the packet from his hand, ripping open the top. "Just try them!"

Curious and only slightly apprehensive, he plucked one of the golden things from the bag and popped it in his mouth. It crunched under his teeth, tasting cheesy and, well, _crispy_.

"These are fantastic!" he said, eating another. He held the packet out to her. "Want one?"

"No thanks, I'll stick with Wotsits," she said, now filling the glasses with ice.

"Wot - _what?_"

"Wotsits."

"Granger, are you feeling okay?" he asked concernedly.

She laughed again and pushed him away from the draw he had been snooping through. After a moment she pulled out a blue and orange bag and held it up. It appeared to be another bag of the _crisps_, only these ones were apparently called _Wotsits_.

"Muggles never cease to amaze me with their weirdness," Draco said, shaking his head. Wotsits indeed.

"Maybe you should take Muggle Studies next year," she suggested.

"My Father would kill me," he said, leaning against the counter and shuddering at the thought of Lucius's reaction to his only son and heir taking _Muggle Studies_.

"He's in Azkaban, what can he do about it?"

"Sic Dementors on me?" he supplied sarcastically, eating another Quaver.

"Could do I suppose," Granger said airily, now looking through the cupboards. "What did you want in your sandwich?"

"What do you have?"

"Butter, cheese, ham, chocolate spread, marmalade, jam -"

"Excuse me, did you just say _chocolate spread_?" he asked bewilderedly.

"Yeah, ever heard of it?"

"No – what self respecting person would put chocolate in a sandwich?"

She pulled a jar out of the cupboard and unscrewed the lid. "Try some," she offered, holding it out to him.

Draco dubiously examined the brown paste, reluctantly conceding to himself that it _did_ smell nice. He cautiously dipped his finger in the jar and tasted it.

Granger smiled at his ecstatic expression as he licked his finger. "I take it that means you like it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Love it," he said, dipping his finger in again before she whipped the jar away from him. "Hey!"

"Stop pestering me and go sit down while I make the sandwiches," she ordered, holding the jar behind her so he couldn't reach it.

He was tempted to fight her for it, but after what had happened earlier he decided not to. Instead he sauntered over to the dining table, throwing himself down in a chair to watch her flit about the kitchen as she made the sandwiches.

He didn't understand his reaction in the café earlier. When the muggle boy had walked in there and insulted Hermione a burning anger had flooded through him, and he had wanted nothing more than to teach the obnoxious brat a lesson – until she had asked him to stop, her voice the only thing rousing him from that anger he felt.

And then, later, she had managed to calm him down. When she had touched him he had felt … _something_ … awaken in him, drawing him to her on a primal level that he didn't completely understand – which was why he thought it wasn't a good idea to get too close to her in a silly fight simply over chocolate spread.

"Malfoy?"

"Hmm?" he said, realising that she had been talking to him.

"I _said_, what did you want to drink?" she asked, sounding a little annoyed that he hadn't been listening. She was looking through the odd metal thing that looked like a wardrobe, but she had called a _fridge_.

"Pumpkin Juice is fine."

She turned around, giving him a patronising look until he cottoned on. "Right. Muggle house," he said. "I'll just have what ever your having then."

She set the two plates of sandwiches on the table, along with the ice filled glasses and then pulled two rather odd looking metal cylinders from the _fridge_. She passed one to him and sat down opposite him.

He stared down at it for a moment, before looking up at her bemusedly. "What the hell is this?"

"Coke," she said, taking a bite out of her sandwich.

"Waiting for an explanation here, Granger," he said after a moment, irritated that she wasn't elaborating.

She grinned at him – he could tell she was enjoying herself – and pulled the metal tab off the top of the cylinder. It made a harsh noise and spat some liquid, making Draco recoil slightly.

Tilting the can to one side, she calmly poured some foul looking brown drink into his glass, which fizzed up.

"There is no way in hell that I am drinking that," he said firmly, eyeing the bubbling liquid.

"Why not?" she asked. "Because it's a _muggle_ drink?"

"That is _not_ a muggle drink," he said. "Muggle drinks don't fizz and pop like that."

"Actually they do."

"I don't believe you. It's some sort of potion, isn't it?"

"No Malfoy, it's just a drink."

He shoved the glass towards her. "You drink it then, if it's so harmless."

She rolled her eyes at him and grabbed the glass. She took a big gulp and passed it back to him. "Don't trust me, Malfoy?"

"Not as far as I can throw you – though considering your size, it could be quite far."

"I'm not that short," she bristled.

He snorted. "Course not. Other people are just freakishly taller than you."

"You're stalling," she said shrewdly. "Just drink it."

Well it had been worth a try, he thought as he gingerly picked up the drink. He smelt it cautiously and nearly sneezed when the bubbles went up his nose. Steeling himself, he took a small sip.

"My God, that's disgusting!"

"It does taste odd at first, but pretty soon you start to crave it," she said, taking a bite of her sandwich.

Draco took another sip and shuddered at the weird, bubbly taste on his tongue. Putting down his drink, he started on his chocolate sandwich – which he had to admit was fairly delicious.

"You know, you're lucky that my parents went out," Granger said, gazing out of the window.

Draco had his mouth full, so he simply raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

"If they saw you eating crisps, chocolate and coke for lunch they would probably throw you out of the house."

"Why?" he asked, having swallowed his food.

"It's bad for your teeth, and they are dentists – teeth healers," she added, noticing his blank look.

"Why do people need healers for their teeth?"

She grinned at him. "Because they eat too many crisps and chocolate."

"Very funny, Granger."

"You know," she said absentmindedly. "I could almost start to think that you like me."

He snorted. "Tolerate is more like it, you are a Mudblood after all." But even as he said it, he knew he had made a mistake.

"Don't call me that," she ordered, her expression darkening.

"What would you prefer? 'Mione?" he asked teasingly, trying to lighten the mood again.

She sighed. "You can be such a prick sometimes."

"And you can be a know it all," he reminded her.

"Arrogant prat," she hissed, though he could tell her heart wasn't in the argument.

"Beaver tooth."

"Ferret face."

"Bossy Gryffindor," he said, now grinning at her.

"Slimy - _why are you laughing?_"

"We sound like five year olds," he pointed out, tilting his chair back on two legs and folding his hands behind his head.

Hermione glared at him, but then her face reluctantly cracked into a smile. "Well if those are the best insults we can come up with, maybe we should call a truce?"

"For the summer?"

She blinked. "I – I was thinking just for now …"

Draco shook his head. "For the summer," he insisted.

"Why?"

"Because I actually do like your company – but only a little bit," he said, winking at her.

She obviously couldn't help a laugh. "Alright, we will call a truce – but you aren't allowed to call me Mudblood or any other names."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Malfoy," she said sternly, reminding him very slightly of Professor McGonagall.

"Fine, I agree."

"Promise?"

He raised three fingers of his right hand in the universal symbol for scouting, even in the Wizarding world. "On my honour as a Malfoy."

She held out her hand, which he shook.

"I can't believe I actually agreed to this – with you of all people," she said to herself.

"It's a one-shot thing, Granger," he reminded her, trying to ignore the tingling in his hand that seemed to be originating from her palm. "Just for the summer."

"So when we go back to school," she said, raising an eyebrow at him. "We go back to normal?"

He grinned, still holding her hand. "Wands blazing and insults firing."

"Total war?" she asked, smirking slightly.

"Total."

"Agreed?"

"Agreed."


	3. Stormy Nights

Hermione wrote her last sentence with a self satisfied flourish and put down her quill to re-read her History of Magic project. Even by her own perfectionist standards, the work was exceptional – largely thanks to the information she had found in the books Malfoy had lent her, which had been a God-send.

She hadn't seen Malfoy since they had made their truce and he had bid her a cheery goodbye. That had been two days ago now, and she was reluctant to admit, even to herself, that she had almost _missed_ him. It had been fun to have another member of the Magical community to talk to, even if it was Malfoy.

Although she now she had finished the project, she had a perfectly legitimate excuse to go see him. She had worked practically non-stop at it for the past few days, absorbed by the information she had found, and so she now had to return his books – and since she had the entire afternoon free, now seemed to be a good time.

She looked down at the books covering the table with mild dismay, wondering how on earth she was going to get all of them to Malfoy Manor. Eventually she decided to cram half of them into a backpack and carry the rest in a stack in her arms. After scribbling a quick note to her parents and plugging her i-pod into her ears, she was off.

The sky was grey overcast and the air was very muggy, signs of an approaching storm that evening, according to the weather forecast. She had left her hair down and it was sticking uncomfortably to the back of her neck. Hermione was glad that she had put on a light blouse and long skirt, knowing that she would be perspiring if she had worn her jeans. She walked a little faster, worried the rain might come early. She didn't mind the rain – in fact she quite enjoyed it – but she didn't fancy getting caught in a downpour with a pile of books that weren't her own.

The walk to Malfoy Manor was nearly five miles, but the time went fairly quickly as she listened to her music. Yet by the time the gates came into view light drops of rain had started to fall and her shoulders and arms were aching from all the books she was carrying.

Remembering the Wards, Hermione hung back cautiously, wondering how she was going to get in. Wards were often designed to do different things, whether it be to keep out all intruders or to identify people who visited - though without being able to do magic, she had no idea what kinds of Wards protected the grounds.

Given the Malfoy family's history and connections, it was likely that they would want to question any sort of intruders, and so the Wards _probably_ wouldn't kill her. On either side of the gate were huge hedges, and she couldn't see any sort of inter-com or bell that she was supposed to ring anywhere, giving her no way to indicate her presence.

Coming to the conclusion that she was supposed to knock on the gate, Hermione awkwardly shifted the books under one arm. It was raining properly now, and she couldn't wait to get inside. Tentatively, in case she was wrong, she raised a single finger to the gate, half expecting it to pass through like smoke. Instead she felt solid, cold iron – quickly followed by the stinging touch of powerful magic jolting up her arm.

She tried to pull back, but the magic was rushing through her body. The last thing she felt was the books tumbling from her arms before everything went black.

_

* * *

_

Dominant Veela genes are found in both males and females and are often known to skip several generations. However, if Veela blood is particularly strong in an individual early warning signs of these dominant genes will become apparent as the seventeenth birthday draws closer.

The most common of these signs is found in the eyes of a Veela, which are known to darken with strong emotions, such as anger, lust or sorrow -

Well, that explains the changes in my eyes, Draco thought, sitting back in his chair.

He had spent the whole day yesterday and much of the morning today researching Veela after his strange outburst two days ago – Granger had been right, he didn't know nearly enough about them considering that he was strong in the blood on both sides of his family.

He pushed the book away from himself and ran both hands through his platinum blond hair, making it stand on end. All day he had felt an odd urge, wanting nothing more than to go find Granger and ask her opinion – her intelligent, logical, analytical opinion – on all this Veela nonsense.

Yet it was precisely because of this urge that he was determined not to go see her. Since she had touched his face, sending unfamiliar fire though his body even at that small contact, a horrible, nagging suspicion had planted itself in the back of his mind.

Sighing, he pulled the book back towards him, flicking through to the chapter on Veela Mates before shoving it away again unread. He couldn't bring himself to read the chapter, fearful that he might find something to confirm his awful suspicions.

Irritated, more with himself that anything else, he left the book on his desk and started pacing his room, working his frustration out onto the lacquered floor.

It just doesn't make any sense, he thought angrily. Even if she was his – no, he couldn't even _think_ the word, lest it become true – then why _now_? He had known her for _years_ and had never felt anything but contempt for the bucktoothed Mudblood.

_Then why do you want to go see her?_ a soft voice in the back of his head asked.

"I don't," he growled, perfectly aware that he was replying to his own consciousness.

_But you do,_ the voice told him.

"Shut up," he muttered, kicking his bed as he passed it. He wouldn't go see Granger – he went to her last time, so this time _she_ could bloody well come to _him_ if she wanted to talk.

He circled his room again, limping slightly due to his stubbed toe. Outside the sky had darkened, a summer storm approaching. Several droplets splattered the huge glass doors that lead to his own sheltered balcony as the rain grew steadily heavier. He had always loved the rain, ever since he was a child.

There was a sudden crack and a house-elf appeared on the rug in the middle of his room. It bowed deeply to him.

"What is it?" he snarled, in no mood to be disturbed.

"Master Draco," the elf stammered. "The Wards around the grounds have gone off, Sir."

He stopped pacing and turned his head to face the half-cowering elf. "The Wards?"

"Yes, Master Draco, Sir."

He ran his hands over his face, wondering what could possibly have tripped the Wards. Anyone who would have visited would have used the Floo, and they all had access to the Manor anyway, so who –

"Shit," he muttered, realising that he knew exactly who was at the gate.

"Apparate me to the gate, _now_," he ordered the elf – it was times like this that he _hated_ not being able to do magic outside of school.

The elf reached up to take his arm and nearly instantaneously Draco was standing in front of the gates, trying to ignore the way his ears had popped. Sure enough, Granger was lying on the other side of the gate, books scattered around her.

Though he had expected it, he still sucked in a shocked breath and hurried forward, running through the gate as if it was no more than smoke. He knelt down beside her and, as gently as he could, turned her onto her back. She was wearing a long turquoise and white skirt that was now tangled around her legs and her matching white blouse was stained with droplets of rainwater. Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing regularly – she was fine.

He was surprised by the powerful rush of relief he felt – quickly followed by a crushing guilt. If he had gone to her she wouldn't be unconscious now.

He turned to the elf, who was hovering on the other side of the gate. "Pick up these books, and then apparate us back," he ordered as he gathered Granger carefully up in his arms. He could have let the elf levitate her, but having her soft form against him felt somehow … safer?

The elf magically collected the books into a huge pile, along with Grangers backpack, which had fallen off. Again, the elf grasped Draco's arm and he found himself back in his room. He instantly dismissed the elf, ordering it to return to books to the Library, and waited until it was gone before turning his attention to the girl in his arms.

He set her carefully down on the centre of his bed, freeing her loose hair from beneath her so that it spread out over his pillow. He straightened up, studying her. The water and the humidity had made her hair curlier, he noticed, just as it had made the material of her skirt cling to her legs.

He frowned, she would become ill if she slept in wet clothes. Pulling open one of his draws, he fished a pair of black pyjamas out before snapping his fingers to summon another elf, who appeared moments later on the carpet.

"Get her changed," he said before the elf had even bowed, thrusting the pyjamas at it. The elf clapped its tiny hands together and suddenly Granger was wearing the pyjamas and the elf was holding her damp clothes.

"Dry those," Draco ordered, nodding towards the dripping bundle. The elf bowed low and, with a loud crack, disappeared.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he looked down at Granger in the black pyjamas. The Slytherin serpent stared at him from her hip, where it was embroidered onto the fabric. The pyjamas had been a Christmas present for his from his mother when he had been in forth year. They were endearingly too big for her, the sleeves hiding her hands completely while only her toes, painted pale pink, peeked out of the trouser cuffs. He was tempted to take a photo – prim Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Princess, in Slytherin pyjamas.

His eyes wandered up to her face. Her features looked small and delicate alongside all those bushy curls. She was almost … beautiful.

_Yours_, the voice in his head whispered satisfiedly.

Quietly, so as not to wake her up, he covered her with a blanket and left her on the bed, thinking that the idea of Hermione Granger being _his_ perhaps wasn't quite as absurd as he had thought...

* * *

Hermione woke to the sound of heavy rain falling. She burrowed deeper into the delightfully warm covers of her bed, trying to get back to sleep. Something was niggling at the back of her mind, telling her she should wake up. Blearily, she cracked open an eye – and screamed.

Curled up on the duvet next to her was a huge snake, blinking at her with its reptilian eyes as its forked tongue flickered out. She scrabbled away from it until she was up against the headboard, her hand instinctively reaching for her wand which – wasn't there.

Malfoy burst into the room, looking around wildly, no doubt drawn by the sound of her scream. "What the hell are you shrieking about?" he demanded, stalking towards the bed.

Hermione gaped at him, wondering what on earth he was doing in her bedroom, when she realised that she wasn't actually _in_ her bedroom. She glanced around the room, noticing the shiny, dark wooden furniture that reeked of wealth, the ornate fireplace and a huge four-poster bed with a mossy green canopy that most definitely wasn't her own.

Malfoy was still staring down at her, his expression a perfect mix between annoyance and concern. "_Well?_"

"I screamed because your delinquent snake was about to eat me," she said, edging further away from Hissy, who was still curled up.

He snorted, annoyance winning out over concern. "Course he was, Granger," he said, holding out a finger for the completely-docile snake to sniff at. "Besides, I thought you weren't frightened of him?"

"Well it was a little _unnerving_ to wake up in an unfamiliar place with that great dirty snake next to me," she said snappily.

Malfoy sat down on the duvet. The snake curled up between them, staring at Hermione. "You've been in the Manor before-"

"Yes, but not this room," she interrupted.

"And you've already met Hissy, so he can't have given you _that_ much of a shock," he continued as if he hadn't heard her.

"Yeah well, there is a difference between seeing from afar and waking up with it on my pillow about to bite me," she retorted.

"He won't hurt you," Malfoy told her. He picked up the snake, which slithered around his shoulders, its eyes still fixed on Hermione, while its narrower tail entwined itself around his fingers.

She eyed the snake uneasily, not liking its stare. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because he likes you."

She blinked at him. "He does?"

Malfoy nodded, a single long finger stroking the snakes head.

"How do you know?"

"He often stays outside, but he doesn't like the rain so he comes in to sleep, and he came straight here, to you – though at the moment I think he is worried he upset you."

"How do you know that?" she asked, slightly suspicious. "Are you a parselmouth?"

He shook his head. "No, I just know my own pets. Look, at the moment he's staying very still, and isn't making any move to approach you."

"Good," she said.

Malfoy snickered. "I _knew_ you were frightened."

"I didn't say I was frightened! I just … don't like him very much."

He frowned. "You just need to be introduced properly then -"

And before she could stop him he had lifted the snake off his shoulders and dropped it down around her own.

"Malfoy, I don't -"

"Shh, hold still a minute," he ordered, arranging the heavy snake around her neck. Its tail had wrapped around her wrist, gripping surprisingly firmly. Its body was cool and dry, the scales feeling very odd on the bare skin of her neck.

"There," he said once he was satisfied. "Granger, meet Hissy, Hissy, meet Hermione Granger." She shuddered as the snake investigated her ear, its tongue flickering out against her skin. "He's smelling you now," he told her.

"Wonderful," she said with another shiver. "Now can you _please_ get him off me?"

He sighed and lifted the snake off her. It curled up on the bed between them again and blinked sleepily before closing its eyes. Malfoy smiled at it and ran a single finger down the snakes' nose; it hissed softly in response, as if it enjoyed it.

"How did I get here?" Hermione wanted to know. "The last thing I remember is being at the gates."

"The Wards stopped you," he told her with a scowl, lifting his eyes from the snake. "Honestly Granger, I thought you were supposed to be the most intelligent witch in our year. You knew the Wards were there, yet you still decided to waltz right through them."

"Shut up," she said, not liking that she had been wrong about the Wards – though she had been right that they wouldn't kill her. "Now, how long have I been here?"

"Not long, it's only about eight in the evening."

"_What?_" she shrieked, jumping up from the bed. "My parents will be so worried, I -"

She broke off as the room suddenly spun around her, her head abruptly feeling very heavy as darkness threatened to over whelm her vision.

As the dizziness abated, she realised that Malfoy was holding on to her elbows to steady her, his anxious face only inches from hers. He guided her back to the bed and sat her down on the edge.

"You probably shouldn't have stood up so fast," he said, kneeling down in front of her. "It's an after-effect of the Wards. People have been known to get dizziness, sudden fatigue, headaches and even nausea."

She groaned and rested her forehead on her knees. "My parents -"

"They know you're here, I've already sent them an owl."

She peeked up at him without moving. "You have?"

He nodded, and then stood up. "Wait here, I'll get you something for the dizziness."

He went to a different door than the one he had originally come from, and she had a glimpse of what looked like a huge, ensuite bathroom. She could hear him rustling around, and he came back carrying a glass cup with some pale blue liquid that was steaming slightly.

"What is that?" she asked.

"It's a tisane. I knew I had some left over in here." He passed her the cup and sat down next to her again.

"You made this yourself?"

He nodded.

It was a mark of how much she had come to trust Malfoy that she drunk it without further question. The drink tasted of rich spices and instantly cleared her head. She finished the whole thing and he took the cup out of her hands. "I'm surprised you actually drunk it," he said, voicing her thoughts.

"Well, I figured that if you were going to hurt me you could have done anything while I was unconscious, so there wasn't exactly any point in poisoning me."

"There is that, I suppose," he said musingly, rolling the empty cup between his long fingers.

They sat in silence for a long moment, and Hermione looked around the room they were in. The floor was shiny wood with an expensive looking rug in the middle. There was a massive wardrobe and writing desk, both made out of dark lacquered wood. Green curtains that matched the bed canopy covered most of one wall, and were currently closed, the silver hold-back ties hanging loosely at either end. There were shelves covered with books, and she recognised the spines of several of their school textbooks.

"Is this … your room?" she asked eventually, already knowing the answer.

"Yes."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "So out of the gazillion bedrooms here-"

"Twenty-eight bedrooms, _actually_."

"Whatever. Out of the twenty-eight bedrooms here, you decided to put me in … _your_ room?"

"I happen to be the only one here at the moment, so this is the only room made up," he said, glaring stonily at her with his grey eyes. "You should just be grateful I didn't dump you on the floor."

Realising that he had actually been trying to do something nice, Hermione felt slightly guilty. "In that case … thank you."

"You're welcome," he retorted. He put the cup on his bedside table. "I'm having the house-elves make up a room for you, that's where I was when you woke up."

"Why?" she asked, at the same time wondering what he had meant by 'that's where I was when you woke up' – did that mean he had been beside her for the rest of the time?

"Well, even though there is plenty of room for two, I doubt you would want to sleep in _my_ bed," he drawled, an unreadable glimmer in his eye.

"What makes you think I'm sleeping here at all?"

Malfoy stood up and walked over to the massive curtains. "You certainly aren't going home in _that_," he said, pulling them apart revealing a huge set of French doors, leading to a sheltered balcony.

"Oh!" she gasped, staring out at the view. She was obviously on one of the higher levels of the house, with a magnificent view of the sweeping grounds. The sky outside was a dark, stormy grey and the rain was coming down in torrents. As she watched, lightening streaked the sky and a moment later she heard the unmistakable rumble of thunder.

Cautiously, so as not to aggravate her dizziness, she got up and walked over to see the grounds better. Malfoy wordlessly opened the door, the drumming of the rain increasing in volume, and the both went out onto the balcony. She lent against the ornate railing, perfectly dry, as they watched the thunderstorm raging around them.

She realised Malfoy glancing sideways at her, a very self-satisfied smile playing around his mouth.

"What are you smirking at?"

"Your clothes," he said shamelessly.

Hermione looked down at herself, noticing what she was wearing for the first time that evening. Instead of her skirt and blouse, she was dressed in a set of black pyjamas made of luxuriatingly soft material – with the Slytherin emblem on them.

"Did you _undress_ me?" he demanded, aghast.

"Don't fret about your modesty Granger, the house elves did it with magic."

"But I look ridiculous!"

"Probably because they are Slytherin pyjamas – and also they're huge on you," Malfoy pointed out.

"Where are _my_ clothes?" she wanted to know.

"Being dried off," he told her. "You can have them in the morning."

"And what am I supposed to do until then?"

He hopped onto the railing, his back facing the storm. "Well you did promise to have dinner here, and there is no time like the present."

"Anyone would think that you planned this," she muttered.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I invited you here, forced you through the Wards so you would end up unconscious and then used all my immense power to create a thunderstorm, just to keep you here – and look, my evil plan is working."

"Well it sort of is," she pointed out. "I'm being forced to stay here overnight."

Malfoy held up his hands. "One, I resent being made to sound like a sappy villain-slash-hero in whatever smutty regency romance novel you're reading at the moment," he drawled. "And two, you're free to leave at any time."

"Yeah, if I want to drown in the rain," she said morosely, choosing to ignore the smutty novel comment.

"Or get struck by lightening," he said cheerfully.

"You said, when we made our deal, that you wanted me to have dinner here because it would '_amuse you_' – what exactly did you mean by that?"

"Honestly Granger?" he said, with a small half smile. "It was because you were the first witch I had spoken to in weeks. The deal was just a way to make sure I had at least one other intelligent conversation, or rather argument, this holiday – even if it was with a Mud- I mean, with you."

She scowled at him. "You nearly said Mudblood then."

"Nearly," he admitted lightly. "Old habits die hard. _But_, I didn't actually say it, so you can't say I failed on my side of our truce."

"True," she sighed. Hermione couldn't help but notice that their arguing had lost most of its sting – it now seemed to be just banter.

Her stomach suddenly rumbled loudly. She pressed both hands to it, embarrassed, as if that might somehow stop the gurgling.

Malfoy snickered. "Hungry, Granger?"

"Starving actually."

He jumped down off the railing. "What did you want to eat?"

"I honestly don't mind," she shrugged, following him back into his room. "It's your house, you can choose."

"I'll go sort dinner then," he said. He pointed to the bathroom. "There's a bathroom there if you wanted to … curl your hair, or something."

And he left though the other door with a smirk.

Wondering what he had meant, she padded bare-foot into his bathroom to see her reflection – and groaned. Her hair was _huge_. The rain earlier had made the curls go even bigger than usual, while the humidity had just made them frizzier. Deciding that there was nothing she could do, she simply splashed some cold water on her face and went back into the bedroom, just as Malfoy returned.

"Let's go, Granger," he said, grabbing a blanket from the bed.

She followed him out into the hall and down the corridor. Again, the pictures were all smiling at her, and she felt a blush suffuse her cheeks – she couldn't help but wonder what they had thought had transpired between her and Malfoy, since coming out of his bedroom wearing his pyjamas looked a little suspicious.

After a few minutes walking they reached the ballroom. "Enlighten me," Hermione said as they walked passed the grand piano. "Why are we eating in here?"

"Because it has the best view," he said over his shoulder. He stopped at the far end in front of a huge floor-to-ceiling window with intricate filigree around the sides. The window faced the wilder part of the grounds, and she could see the edge of the forest though the rain, the howling wind whipping the tree branches into a frenzied dance.

"A picnic?" she said as he spread the blanket out next to the window. "I think you've forgotten something,"

"And what's that?" he asked.

"The food."

He smiled up at her and patted the blanket. "House-elves, Granger. They'll bring it to us."

She sat down. "Right, the slave-waiter-service, how could I forget?"

"Still on that House-elf crusade of yours then?"

"And what would you know about it?" she said grouchily, trying to get comfortable.

"I know you started spew in our forth-year -"

"It's not _spew_, it's-"

Malfoy lifted a finger to silence her. "And I also know you want to join the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures so you can make a difference."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "How did you know that?"

"I saw you reading the leaflet."

"What do you want to do after Hogwarts?"

She heard him sigh. "It's not a question of what I _want_ to do, it's a question of what I will _have_ to do."

"You mean …"

"Yes, I mean the Death Eaters," he said blandly, staring out of the window. "My families in too deep and my father – well, you've met him, you know what he's like. I'll probably be forced to follow in his footsteps."

"And you don't want to." It wasn't a question.

"Of course not!" He looked appalled, and then his expression darkened to one something like misery. "You thought I did, didn't you?"

She shrugged.

He lay down on his back, looking up at the ceiling high above them. "I suppose that's what everyone thinks, isn't it? I'm in Slytherin, son of a Death Eater … but having seen first hand what they can do, it actually made me want to be -"

He broke off, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

"Be what?" Hermione prompted.

He tilted his head so he was facing her and gave her a funny smile. "A Healer."

"Really?" she said, remembering the tisane he had given her. "I can see you doing that."

"You're the first person I have told that to, you know," he said meditatively. "By all rights, you should now tell me one of _your_ secrets."

She laughed, and tried to think of a secret she could actually tell him.

"I felt insanely guilty after the second task in the Triwizard Tournament when Viktor Krum saved me, because I had never actually fancied him – I just went out with him to spite Ron."

Malfoy looked impressed. "What?" she asked, confused by his expression.

"Well, that's just quite a bitchy thing to do – almost _Slytherin_, wouldn't you say?"

"Shut up," she said, though she was actually amused – especially considering what she was wearing.

"You said you did it to spite Weasel – though if you really wanted to annoy him you should have gone out with _me_ -"

Hermione laughed, and he continued. "But that aside, does that mean you fancy him?"

"Ron?" she said. "No, definitely not. I did in forth year, but not anymore."

"You like Potter then?" he asked, a little too lightly.

"No, they are both just friends."

"Damn," Malfoy said, though he looked unmistakably relieved.

"Damn what?"

"There was a bet going around about which one of your bodyguards you would end up with, and I put my money on Weasley. We never decided what would happen to the money if you ended up with _neither_ of them."

"Maybe I should get the money?"

Malfoy laughed, "In that case, you are going to be a very rich woman."

"So," Hermione said, "I have now told you _two_ of my secrets, and that means you owe me one more."

He tilted his head, considering his answer. "The Sorting Hat seriously considered putting me in Gryffindor," he smirked.

She gaped at him, and then frowned. "I don't believe you."

"No?"

"Not a chance."

Malfoy grinned at her and opened his mouth to say something – but there was a loud crack and a House-elf appeared beside their blanket, carrying a massive raspberry cheesecake that looked mouth-wateringly delicious and two forks. It set it down between them and bowed.

"Will there be anything else, Master Draco, sir?"

"No, you can go," he said, and the House-elf disapperated.

"Cheesecake?" Hermione said suprisedly, since it happened to be her favourite dessert. "For dinner?"

"What's wrong with that?" Malfoy asked, handing her a fork.

"Nothing …"

They both dug into the cheesecake, eating it straight from the whole with their forks. With the first bite, Hermione thought she might have died and gone to heaven. "It tastes _just_ like the Hogwarts one."

"Same recipe," Malfoy said around a mouthful of cake.

"Really?"

"Uh huh, Dobby gave it to them." He ate another mouthful and closed his eyes in bliss. "It's my favourite," he said.

Hermione smiled to herself, but chose not to tell him that it was hers too. She speared another bit on her fork – and then noticed Malfoy had more of the raspberry coulis on his side of the plate than her. "Hey, stop bogarting all the sauce."

H plucked her fork out of her hand and covered it in sauce from his side before raising it to her lips. She opened her mouth automatically – their eyes met as she took the fork between her teeth, and she realised she was letting him feed her. She blushed, and took her fork back, her fingers brushing his accidentally.

"Harry and Ron would never believe me if I told them I was here," she muttered to break the sudden silence, not looking up at Malfoy's face.

"So don't tell them," he said. She knew he was still watching her, since he hadn't took another bite yet.

"You think I was planning to?"

"You did bring it up."

She shrugged and toyed with her fork, still not looking at him. "Just musing I suppose."

"Do you think you will tell them, at all?" he asked.

She risked a glance at him. He was staring at her, his eyes darker than normal again. He was turning his own fork between his long fingers, seemingly unconscious of what he was doing. "I'm not sure that they would understand."

He nodded slowly, and then smiled. "Let's keep our summer insanity to ourselves then."

* * *

About half an hour later, Draco was lying on the blanket with Granger, the empty plate that the cheesecake had been on sitting to one side of them. She was lying down as well, facing the window. Neither of them had spoken in a while, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. He simply took the opportunity to study her, thinking …

She yawned suddenly, reminding him of a cat and bringing a small, half smile to his lips. "Tired?"

She tilted her head to look at him and smiled, her brown eyes somehow bright in the dark ballroom. "Yes, actually."

"It's the Wards. People have been known to get sudden fatigue. Your body just needs to sleep off the effects of the magic."

"Because apparently being unconscious for most of the afternoon wasn't rest enough," she said with a hint of sarcasm.

"There's a difference between unconsciousness and sleep," he pointed out.

"I know," she said, and yawned again. She sighed and looked back out of the window. "I love the rain," he heard her murmur.

He stared at her, and she noticed. "What? You're looking at me oddly."

"Nothing, its just … I like it too."

"What do you like best about it?" she wanted to know.

"The smell. Everything smells so much fresher after the rain."

Her eyes drifted shut and she let out a sigh of contentment. "I like the sound. I love going to sleep to the sound of thunder …"

Draco propped himself on one elbow as her voice tailed off, looking down at her. She looked so peaceful. "Granger?" he asked softly, wondering if she had already gone to sleep.

"Hmm?"

"Are you going to fall asleep right here on the ballroom floor?"

"…Maybe," she said, keeping her eyes closed.

He got to his feet. "Come on, let's get you up to bed. I don't want to carry you again." He actually wouldn't have minded too much at all, but he didn't want her to know that.

Granger opened her eyes and forced herself into a sitting position, looking around her blearily. Her eyes lifted to his, and she smiled.

Draco reached down and took her hands, hauling her to her feet. She seemed a little unsteady, so he wrapped an arm around her narrow waist. He could smell her hair as she lent against him, letting him guide her through the Manor.

They reached the guest room the House-elves had prepared and he opened the door. He led Granger over to the bed and she sat on the edge, blinking up at him. He gently pushed some hair out of her eyes. "My room is just down the corridor, if you need anything."

"'Kay," she yawned. "Night Malfoy."

He smiled and walked to the door. Looking back, he saw that she had already crawled beneath the covers and had her head on the pillows. "Good night … Granger," he murmured, closing the door softly.

He lent against the closed door for a moment, before heading down to his room. The book on Veelas was still on his desk. He picked it up and carried it over to his bed, lying down to read. He could still very faintly smell Granger on the sheets, the same smell of her hair that had filled his nose a moment ago – the smell of thunderstorms and something fresh and floral.

Knowing that he had no choice but to read the chapter on Veela Mates now, he flicked through to the start. As he read, everything made sense. Even his question about why the change was happening now was answered – a Veela seeing a Mate in a different light could trigger certain feelings. The suspicion he had felt that she was _his_ had begun just after the irrational protectiveness he had felt for her in the café and the way she had touched his face afterwards – he had seen her as needing saving, and had acted accordingly.

Though she was a Mudblood, they were still equals on many levels. They were the two most intelligent students in their year, so they would never run out of things to talk about – or argue about – and that sharp temper of hers would certainly add interest to a relationship.

Over the past few days he had come to realise that she could be fun to be around and she made him laugh. He knew that she was brave and compassionate and caring.

He smiled, thinking of how serene she had looked burrowed under all those covers, with her wild hair around her face. _Beautiful_ … surely having her as his mate wasn't such a bad thing after all.

A section in the book caught his eye and he groaned.

_Contrary to popular belief, Veela characteristics will manifest completely before the seventeenth birthday. A Veela will begin his or her search for a mate before this time, and must have completed the bonding ritual before the seventeenth birthday takes place (For more information on the bonding ritual, see page 357)._

"Shit shit shit," Draco muttered, throwing the book to one side. He rolled over and stared up at the canopy of his bed, wondering how on earth he was going to woo Hermione Granger before his seventeenth birthday.


	4. Cross my Heart

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Hermione woke up not knowing where she was. She sat up, holding the bedcovers around her, before she remembered the previous night. Realising that she must be in one of the twenty-seven spare bedrooms at Malfoy Manor, she looked around the spacious, powder blue room with interest.

There was a timid knock at the door, and a tiny House-elf poked its head in.

"Good morning," Hermione said politely.

"Good morning, Miss," the elf squeaked, and she thought this one might be female. "My name is Dottie, Miss, and I have been sent to give Miss her breakfast.

"Thank-you Dottie, that's very kind of you," she said as the elf carried in a tray almost as big as it towards the bed. She placed the tray on Hermione's lap, revealing toast, eggs and bacon cooked to perfection, along with a glass of orange juice. The elf bowed. "If Miss should require anything else, please call Dottie. I shall go fetch clothes while Miss eats."

She bowed again, and with a crack, vanished.

She had barely swallowed a single mouthful with Dottie returned, carrying her neatly folded clothes from the previous day.

"Do you like working here, Dottie?" she asked around another mouthful.

"Oh yes, Miss," the elf replied, now opening the curtains. "Dottie likes it very much."

"I won't repeat your answers to the Malfoy's, if you're worried about that," she said. "I'm just curious to know what they are like."

Dottie hesitated. "I is liking Master Draco very much, he is a very kind Master and doesn't give us punishments. I is glad that Master Lucius is gone, Miss. He was not as kind -" she stopped herself and clapped her hands to her mouth in horror.

Recognising the signs of an elf about to punish itself, Hermione grabbed Dottie's wrist. "You're not allowed to punish yourself just for answering my question, Dottie, it that clear?"

"Yes Miss, thank you Miss," the elf said, looking relieved.

"So you say that Mal – I mean _Draco_ is a good Master?" she asked, twisting her napkin. Given her attitude towards House-elf servitude, the idea of Malfoy being nice to elves despite all the power he wielded over them automatically raised him in her esteem.

"Yes Miss, he is very nice, Miss." Dottie hesitated again, and stepped closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "He is sometimes in a bad mood, Miss, and then he snaps a lot, but Dottie has noticed that he has been a lot calmer since Miss started visiting."

She nodded slowly and pushed her finished breakfast tray away, before swinging her legs out of the bed. "Do you know where he is, Dottie?"

"He is in the Ballroom, Miss," she said, passing her the clothes.

"Thank you, I'll just get dressed and go find him."

"Does Miss know the way to the Ballroom?"

"Yes, I think I can find it," she said. "Thank you Dottie, it was lovely to meet you."

"Lovely to meet you too, Miss," the elf said, grinning toothily. "Dottie hopes you will come back again soon." She bowed and, with another loud crack, disapparated.

Unfolding her clothes, Hermione found her wand, keys, phone and i-pod all folded into the material, along with her bag. She dressed quickly, sticking everything into her bag except her i-pod, which took up its customary place in her pocket.

Leaving the bedroom, she walked down the corridor, examining the sleeping portraits. Occasionally one of them would be awake, and would smile and greet her.

As she approached the Ballroom, once again the sound of a piano being played met her ears. This time the music was fast and loud, though still oddly melodious despite the discordant notes. The tempo of the piece sounded almost angry in its speed, played with an almost primitive energy.

Hermione pushed open the door to the ballroom, listening to the music. Malfoy was once again sitting at the piano, his fingers flying over the keys with a single minded ferocity. His face was set in a heavy scowl, his eyebrows drawn down low over his eyes.

She walked softly up behind him. "What did that piano ever do to you?"

"Granger!" The music came to an abrupt stop as he turned around, startled. "Did I wake you?"

"In case you forgot, the room I was staying in is all the way on the other side of this monstrosity of a house, so no, you didn't."

"Right, good …" he said distractedly, not even bothering to respond to her obvious sarcasm.

"Are you okay? You seem a little preoccupied."

"I'm fine, I was just … _thinking_," he said guardedly, letting his fingers wander absently over the keys of the piano again, picking out a random, yet hauntingly slow melody.

"About?"

He shrugged and started experimenting with a few chords for the harmony line.

Hermione looked at him; he was staring with focused intensity down at the piano, though she sensed his mind wasn't on the music at all. His blond hair was dishevelled, looking like he had run his fingers through it a dozen times. He was also wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the previous night, though now his shirt was partially unbuttoned.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" she asked curiously, also noting the dark circles under his cool grey eyes.

"No, I couldn't sleep – too busy thinking I suppose," he gave her a tired sort of smirk.

She sank down onto the piano stool next to him, and this time he moved over without protest. "What are you playing?"

The music stopped again; Malfoy glanced down at his hands, as if he had only just realised they were moving. "Nothing, just improvising."

"Oh … well I liked it," she said, looking away from him. The lingering vibration of the tune was still hanging in the air between them.

Malfoy snorted. "Hermione Granger _likes_ something I am doing? We better go notify Satan, because I think hell is freezing over." He finished his sentence with a massive, obviously unintended yawn.

"The yawn sort of ruined the sarcasm of that," she pointed out, smiling.

"Well we can't expect perfection from me all the time."

"Can we expect it at all?"

He grinned. "I walked right into that one, didn't I? Must be the tiredness."

"Are you going to go to sleep then? I can show myself out," she offered, ignoring the slight, and very odd, pang in her chest.

"Nah, I can't sleep when it's light," he said, standing up. "What I need is something to wake me up."

He headed towards the doors leading outside, leaving Hermione on the stool. He realised she wasn't following and turned around. "Coming Granger?"

"Coming where?" she asked, picking herself up from the stool and walking across the room – her long, floaty skirt making her want to spin like a child and imagine she was wearing a ball gown.

"It's a surprise," he said secretively, leading her outside. "I think you will like it though."

The sun hit her instantly as she followed him along a small stone path around the outside of the manor. Eventually they came to a large courtyard; sunk in the middle was a swimming pool, the water sparkling a vibrant aquamarine in the sunlight, with several ornate loungers around it.

I didn't know you like swimming," she said as Malfoy pulled off his shirt.

"Just like you didn't know I played the piano and had a pet snake," he pointed out, smiling before diving into the water, his body making a graceful arc. His ghostly pale figure glided under the water, shimmering distortedly. He swam to the other end of the pool and came up for air, his silver-blond hair plastered to his head. Seeing her hanging back reluctantly, he grinned.

"Care to join me?"

She shook her head firmly and sat on one of the loungers, plonking her bag down next to her. "You know, most people take showers or drink coffee to wake up in the mornings."

"I'm not most people – I'm special," he said, treading water.

"Keep telling yourself that, Malfoy. Who knows, maybe it will come true?"

"Already is true, and you know it." He flipped over in the water and continued his lengths.

Hermione slipped off her flip-flops and dipped her toe in the water, smiling at their banter. The pool was deliciously cool, perfect for cooling off on a hot summer's day. She hadn't been swimming all summer, and was already feeling the heat of what promised to be another muggy day, so she wanted nothing more that to jump in.

Lifting her long skirt above her thighs, she cautiously sat on the edge of the pool, dipping her legs in the water.

Malfoy surfaced again, flicking his wet hair out if his eyes. He saw her sitting with her legs in the pool, the hem of her skirt floating on top of the water, and smirked.

"Sure you don't want to come in?" he called teasingly to her.

"I don't have my swimming clothes with me," she said regretfully.

"Neither do I," he pointed out, reminding her that he was still wearing his jeans.

She sighed. "I would … but no."

Malfoy's face turned calculating for a brief second, before he dived under the water, suddenly on a mission. He swam straight for her, crossing the pool in a single breath. Long fingers encircled her ankles and she slapped the water with her heels, trying to make him let go.

He came up for air, maintaining his firm grip on her feet. The pool was shallow enough at this end for him to stand, the water reaching his stomach. Drips ran in rivulets from his sopping hair, down his neck and over his sculpted, pale chest, bringing a slight flush to her cheeks. He had his head tilted to one side and was looking at her speculatively.

When she realised she couldn't escape, she stopped struggling and huffed at him, "Malfoy, what in Merlin's name are you doing?"

"Getting you in the water."

"I told you, I -"

"And I decided not too listen to you, which I actually do fairly often," he interrupted.

"Malfoy …" she said sternly, trying to keep her gaze focused on his grey eyes instead of straying down to his body – surely she wasn't feeling any sort of attraction to _Malfoy_?

"Look at it this way," he said, ignoring her Professor McGonagall imitation. "You can either come in willingly, or I can pull you in."

He pulled her forward by her ankles until she was perched on the very edge.

She narrowed her eyes at him, her fingers gripping the edge of the pool in case he was serious. "You wouldn't dare …"

He raised an eyebrow at her; his long fingers moved up to her calves, pulling her slightly again.

"Come on, Granger, you know you want to get in," he said, smiling angelically, though his eyes had a wicked glint. "What's the worse that could happen?"

"You could try to drown me," she pointed out.

"Promise not to," he said. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

She tilted her head to one side consideringly, trying her very best to ignore the way her skin was tingling where it met his fingers.

"Please?" he breathed.

Hermione didn't think she had ever heard him say 'please' before, except when he was sucking up to teachers. She bit her lip, deciding, and then slid into the water.

Malfoy sucked in a sharp breath as his hands moved automatically up her legs from her claves as she slipped into the water. Higher and higher his fingers moved, up over her knees, until he seemed to remember himself and abruptly let go, placing his hands on the edge of the pool on either side of her instead.

Because of this, she slid right into the cage of his arms. Their bodies were flush up against each other, and she noticed Malfoy was showing no sign of stepping back. She felt blood rush to her cheeks, he had her practically pinned against the wall of the pool, his eyes darker than normal as he stared down at her – he hadn't actually expected her to get in the pool, she realised.

In an effort to diffuse some of the sudden, unexpected tension between them – but a _very_ different sort of tension she was used to – she splashed him, smiling as best she could despite her racing heart.

It worked – he cracked a smile and splashed her back, freeing her from his arms as he did so.

"You think to start a splashing contest, Granger?" he drawled as she took the opportunity to slip passed him, walking through the shallow water. Her skirt was flowing out under the water and instead of feeling ridiculous she felt strangely weightless and elegant. "Because I assure you, that won't end well for you."

"Is that a threat?"

"A warning," he smirked.

"You promised not to drown me," she pointed out.

"True," he allowed. "But I didn't promise not to get you wet."

He flicked a single drop of water at her – she splashed him in response, realising too late that she had played right into his hands by retaliating.

Malfoy's hands met her shoulders, and she was pushed backwards into the water with him landing on top of her. There was a very confused tangle of arms and legs. She tried to get her hands on the top of his head to hold him under, but instead her arms ended up around his neck. They both surfaced, Hermione still clinging onto his shoulders as she spluttered and blinked water out of her eyes while he laughed.

"A black bra, Granger?" he asked once she had disentangled herself. She realised he was staring down at her chest in an unmistakably amused way. "I wouldn't have thought you had it in you."

She followed his gaze, and sure enough her bra was clearly visible beneath her white blouse, which had turned practically transparent in the water.

"Pervert," she said, covering herself with her arms and glaring at him.

"Prude," he retorted, grinning.

She rolled her eyes and made to walk passed him, but his hand flashed out and grabbed her wrist, his eyes bright.

"So tell me, are you wearing the matching knickers?"

She was, but she certainly wasn't going to tell him that. She slapped his hand away, flustered that he would ask such a question. "What's it to you?"

His grin widened and he let go of her – she backed away slightly. "That's not a no."

"It's not a yes either."

"So which is it?" he asked interestedly, following her.

"None of your business!"

"Yet," he muttered.

"What?" she asked, unsure if she had heard him properly.

He smiled innocently at her, "Nothing Granger."

"No, you said something," she persisted, but Malfoy was staring at something on the bottom of the pool. Following his gaze, she saw a blue object lying between them, its shape shimmering indistinctly through the water.

"What's that?" he said. Before she could reply, he had dived under the water.

He came up dripping, his white-blond hair nearly colourless where it stuck to his cheeks and forehead. He was holding an instantly recognisable blue object in his hands, and Hermione shrieked when she saw it.

"My i-pod!"

Malfoy frowned as she grabbed it from his hands. "That's your little music box device, isn't it?"

"Yes – damnit!" she said, frantically trying to turn it on, though the screen remained blank. "I must have left it in my skirt pocket – stupid stupid stupid!"

"What's the problem, Granger?"

"Water's bad for electronic things." She flounced off to the side of the pool to lean against the edge so she could examine it without getting it wetter.

"So is it broken?" Malfoy asked, following her.

"Yes – this is all your fault!" she snapped, knowing she was being irrational, but wanting someone to blame nevertheless.

His eyebrows rose. "My fault?"

"If you hadn't made me go in the water -"

"You were the one that left the stupid thing in your pocket."

She heaved herself out of the water, standing dripping on the side of the pool. "But that wouldn't have mattered if you hadn't forced me into the pool. It would still -"

"Excuse me, Miss High-and-Mighty, force you? I most certainly did not force you."

"No, you just threatened to pull me in if I didn't get in the water. That's not forcing at all."

"Look, Granger, there is no need to get all pissy," he said, leaning on the edge. "I'll buy you a new i-_thing_."

Hermione blinked down at him. He had said that with a straight face, absolutely no hint of sarcasm at all.

"I don't want you to buy me a new one," she said confusedly, wondering if he had meant it.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Then what's all the fuss about?"

He pulled himself out of the water. His sodden jeans looked almost black from the water and were hanging low on his hips. He grabbed a towel from one of the loungers and she distinctly heard him mutter "_Women!_" as he towled his hair, leaving it wet and dishevelled.

He hung the towel around his neck and gave her another irritable look. "Come on," he said, jerking his head toward the manor. "Lets go get dried off."

"It'll take ages to dry if we can't use magic," she said woefully, fingering the sopping material of her skirt.

"You're forgetting the House-elves, Granger. They will have you dry and looking less like a drowned rat in no time."

"Drowned rat? How original," she said sarcastically.

He smirked. "Well, if drowned rats wear pretty, black bras that is."

"Shut up," she said half-heartedly, picking up her bag and following him inside.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Draco came into the entrance hall after a hasty shower, flicking his still damp hair out of his eyes, his broom over one shoulder. The dip in the pool and his shower had woken him up slightly, but not nearly enough, having spent the whole night working out what to do about Hermione Granger.

She was standing off the one side of the entrance hall, now dry though her hair was also damp. She had her little backpack on her back, and was deep in conversation with the portrait of his great-great-uncle Alexis, who had died in the Goblin rebellion of 1857.

"Granger? Hate to cut the History of Magic lesson short, but didn't you want to go?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm coming," she said, turning around. Her eyes fell on his broom, and she groaned. "Didn't I say I would never fly with you again?"

"Women say things they don't mean all the time," he pointed out. "Considering that you have the choice of walking for two hours without your music box thing, a five minute flight, or staying here forever, I think you're going to choose to fly."

She sighed and said goodbye to the portrait, following him outside.

"You know, I think you need to get over this irrational fear of flying you have."

"And how do you propose I do that?" she wanted to know.

"By actually flying," he said, holding the broom out to her. "Always face your fears, that's something my father used to tell me, and it actually proved to be good advice – though be careful with the broom, it was rather expensive."

Granger hesitated, and then cautiously took the broom as if she was handling a snake about to bite. She glanced up at him and, when he nodded reassuringly, mounted the broom, arranging her long skirt around her.

"You do know I have practically no idea how to do this, right?"

"Hermione Granger doesn't know something? That's a -"

"Shut it," he heard her mutter.

He grinned at her mutinous expression. "Don't worry, I'll be right here behind you."

"Well that makes me feel _so_ safe now," she said sarcastically, though her face was paler than normal.

Draco got on behind her and reached around her to arrange her hands on the broom handle, correcting her grip. She seemed to fit perfectly into his arms, and her skin was silky smooth beneath his fingers – how had he not noticed anything about her before now?

He took a deep breath – trying his best to ignore the effect the luscious smell of her hair was having on him – and said, "I want you to kick off from the ground, hard, okay?"

"Right …" she said. He felt her also take a deep breath and then let it out slowly, and then she kicked off.

The broom wobbled as it rose, and he automatically steadied it, keeping his hands over hers to direct her. His chest was pressed against her back, and he could feel the rapid beat of her heart through their clothes.

"I don't like this," he heard her mutter as they bought the broom higher still.

"Relax," he chucked in her ear. "You're doing fine. Now, do you know how to accelerate?"

"Lean forward?"

"Go on then."

They both leant forward over the broom, and shot forwards, soaring over the grounds of the manor. Within moments they had left the manicured lawns and were flying low over fields. Letting him guide her, Granger lowered the broom further until their toes were about to brush the swaying wheat. She laughed.

"Like it?"

"It's not … _too_ bad," she replied.

"We're going up again," he said as they approached a line of trees, and they pulled the handle up together, lifting the broom until it was high in the sky. Draco could see the village in the distance. "Ready to go into a dive?"

He felt her nod, and pull the broom into a shallow dive, heading towards the village. With his hands still over hers, she let him steer them over the roofs of houses, until they landed lightly in her front garden. Granger let out a shaky laugh the moment she dismounted.

"Well I doubt you will ever play Quidditch for England, but that still wasn't half bad," he said, leaning his broom against her fence. The wind had dried her damp hair, making it even wilder than ever – he wondered what it would feel like if he ran his fingers through it.

"I don't know if I could do it on my own though," she said. "You were doing half the work."

"You were doing the other half," he pointed out. "It gets easier with practice."

"I don't know, it's still not my favourite from of travel," she said. Her eyes drifted over to the driveway, which was empty, and she frowned. "Looks like my parents have gone out," she muttered to herself.

"Does that mean you're going to invite me in?" Draco asked, not wanting to cut his time with her short.

"Only if you promise to behave yourself," she frowned.

He drew his finger in a cross over his heart and gave her a sceptical look.

She sighed, "Okay then."

She fished a set of keys out of her bag and unlocked the door. He followed her into the kitchen, where she was standing reading a not from her parents. Reading it over her shoulder, he saw the words _'Hi Honey, we had to go into the surgery today, so we will be back after work. Call if you need anything, love Mum._ He found the obvious affection in the note alien, since he had never been particularly close to his parents.

"Did you want a drink?" Granger asked, leaving the note on the kitchen counter.

"Sure," he replied.

"Okay, go on through to the lounge, I'll be there in a minute," she said distractedly, waving him away.

Draco grinned and left the kitchen, eager to explore the house. He had been here before, but only seen the hall and the kitchen, so he couldn't help but he curious about Grangers room. Bypassing the lounge, he headed straight up the stairs. The house was fairly small, with only four rooms upstairs. One door lead to a bathroom and another revealed a room that was far too tidy to be anything but a guest room.

When he tried the next door, he knew instantly that he had got the right room. Granger's bedroom was painted a cheerful yellow, with fluttering white curtains. There was a tiny wooden bed with a pale pink quilt. The shelves were covered with books, as was a small desk in one corner.

What he found most interesting, however, was the wall above the headboard of her bed. Every inch of paint was covered in photos; some of them were moving wizard photos, mostly containing Potter and Weasley, but several with other Gryffindors he recognised. There were also the non-moving muggle photos of what had to be her friends and family. He had always found muggle photos a little creepy, with their blank eyes and absolute stillness.

Scattered among the pictures were also letters, Weasley's in a barely legible scrawl and Potters only slightly neater. He examined one from Potter; it didn't seem to have any purpose whatsoever, except to tell her about how much trouble someone called Dudley had got into for sneaking food into his room. The letter was purely banter between friends, several comments obviously replying to something Granger had said, but it was the aimlessness of it that really got to Draco – he never sent letters to anyone unless he had a specific purpose too. Was this something that friends did?

"What do you think you're doing?" a voice said from the doorway.

Granger was standing there, her arms folded over her chest.

"Just exploring," he shrugged. She glared at him. "Don't look at me like that, Granger," he added defensively. "You saw my room, so it's only fair I get to see yours."

She sighed and unfolded her arms, looking around her room. "You know, even Harry and on haven't seen my bedroom."

"Really?"

"They've never been here actually," she said. "We always go to Ron's."

"How do you all fit into that shack?"

"Don't be mean," she said, frowning at him.

"So does that mean I am the first person from Hogwarts to come here?" he asked, deciding to shift the subject away from Weasley – he may have developed a certain civility towards Granger, but being nice about her moronic friends was out of the question.

"Who would have guessed?" she said bemusedly.

"Who indeed?" he grinned, knowing what she meant.

Granger came into the room and left her bag on her bed. She caught sight of her hair in the mirror and groaned. "Ugh, my hair is a mess."

"Not much different than usual then," he said cheekily.

She glowered at him, before turning her eyes back to the mirror. "See this is what flying does, I have bugs in my hair," she said disgustedly. "I'm going to take a shower."

"And what am I supposed to do?"

"Go downstairs, go home, whatever you like!" she said, getting irritated.

He held his hands out in a placating gesture and backed out of the room. "Alright, no need to get angry."

She shut the door in his face and, chuckling, he went back downstairs. In the lounge he found two mugs, one of them containing tea and the other a black coffee with a single sugar, exactly how he liked it. He wondered how she had known, and then remembered the café.

If he had thought there had been a lot of books in Grangers room, he had been mistaken. Her parents must obviously enjoy reading as well, since two whole walls of the living room were taken up by book shelves. Resting between the books was a photo of Granger when she was younger, her huge teeth very obvious in her wide smile, and her hair even bushier than it was now.

In one corner was one of the little black boxes that muggles watched pictures on. On top of it was the small, button covered device that he suspected worked the machine – a _TV_, he thought it was called. He examined it for several minutes and cleverly deduced how to work it by pressing the 'On' button. The screen flashed up with a man talking, and after a moment he realised that it was a news report.

Quickly growing board of the depressing man blathering on about the next week's weather, he went to look at the books. There was everything from reference books to novels. He pulled a few off the shelf and flicked through, but found nothing interesting. Eventually he noticed a very well worn book; his eyebrows rose as he read the blurb and he took it back to the sofa with him.

He had just lain down to read when a massive ginger cat leapt up next to him, meowing. It was the ugliest cat he had ever seen, looking like it had kneazle blood and as if it had ran into a wall head-first. The cat butted its head against his hand, and then curled up beside him.

Granger came down the stairs about twenty minutes later, now dressed in jeans and a pale blue t-shirt, her hair drying in heavy curls, to find Draco lounging on her sofa with her cat half on top of him and suppressing laughter at the book. He looked up when she came in.

"This book is completely bizarre," he said.

"What are you reading," she asked curiously. He held up the copy of 'Twilight' so she could see the cover. "Oh," she said, looking slightly worried. "How far in are you?"

"Chapter three," he replied. "First of all, it is blatantly obvious that these 'Cullens' are vampires, even though they can go out in sunlight, which is utterly ridiculous. And also, according to the back of the book, this muggle girl Bella falls in love with one of them – and its obviously going to be this Edward guy, who seems a bit of a prat -"

"He isn't a prat!"

"Have it your way, Granger," he chuckled. "Though I cannot see that relationship ending well."

She shoved his legs off the cushions so she could sit on the edge of the sofa. "It does actually, she becomes one of them."

Draco rolled his eyes. "But turning a human into a vampire is a complete violation of the Non-Wizard-Part-Human Relations laws -"

"Malfoy -"

"Not to mention, vampires are very territorial so you would never get a vampire couple, since they would end up fighting over food and -"

"Malfoy, it's a fictional story," she interrupted.

He snorted and threw the book on the coffee table. "Its stupid muggle rubbish."

"Once you ignore the flaws in how she wrote the vampires, you can appreciate that it's a very good and well written love story," she said almost dreamily, staring into space.

He narrowed his eyes at her, wondering what she was thinking. "Imagining your own Edward, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, giving him a patronising look.

"Why _can_ they go out in sunlight anyway?" Draco wanted to know – it had baffled him since the Bella girl had first seen the Vamp outside without him bursting into flames.

Granger closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "I am not going to sit here and explain twilight to you."

"Why not?"

"Because," was all she replied.

"Because …?"

She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. "Because you will scoff at it, and I don't want you ruining the story for me."

"What makes you think I will?"

She laughed without humour. "It's a girl thing."

"Meaning?"

"Well, I don't think guys don't generally get the whole Twilight obsessive love thing. He is so drawn to her, and he feels he can't have her because she is too good for him, while she is secretly feeling the same way -"

"Granger?" he interrupted, slightly concerned about how into the story she was. "I only read up to chapter three."

"Right," she grinned. "Did you want to borrow it?"

"Are you joking? It sounds like the most ridiculous piece of muggle filth in the world. Also, this Edward sounds like a stalker."

"I knew you wouldn't understand," she muttered.

Draco didn't reply, he was thinking about what she had said – '_He is so drawn to her, and he feels he can't have her because she is too good for him._' Of course the circumstances were not exactly the same, and he wasn't at all inferior to Granger, especially considering her blood, but he still understood a lot better than she thought.

When Hermione had suggested that they watch a film, since Malfoy had never seen one before, she hadn't expected him to fall asleep in the first ten minutes. Granted, he hadn't slept at all the previous night, but she was still a little irate that he had found her favourite film, 'The Painted Veil', boring enough to nod off to.

He had read the back of the DVD cover and said he thought the story sounded interesting, if a little angsty – yet as the opening credits had started his eye lids had started to droop and, as the characters were seen, was saying that he didn't understand.

She had been in the middle of explaining the flashback between the time the film was set and when the two characters had met, when she noticed that his eyes had closed completely.

It was hard to stay angry at him though, when she looked at him. His messy blond hair was falling over his eyes, his face somehow looking very innocent in sleep. He was lying down still, taking up most of the sofa with his long legs and he had one arm folded behind his head, the other hand playing with Crookshanks' fur. She was a little surprised her cat liked him considering that, given how he had been able to tell Peter Pettigrew was an Animagus, she had always considered him to be a good judge of character.

Tearing her gaze from him, she forced herself to watch the film.

* * *

_"It was her, Lyra did it, I promise!"_lie_ to me, Draco," Lucius said, advancing on him with his wand. "I know it was you."_Please!_" he screamed through the pain._can't!_" she shrieked. "My baby, my little girl -"_Lyra!_" he screamed, twisting frantically._

"Don't

"It was Lyra, it wasn't me!"

"Tell me the truth! Crucio!"

Draco yelled in agony as pain rushed through his body, falling to the floor at his fathers' feet. "No, it was Lyra!

"Stop!" a clear voice rang out. The pain stopped and Draco blinked through the tears to see his sister standing in the doorway, a toy doll clutched in her hands. "It was Draco, Father," she said softly.

"Lyra …" Draco said, begging her not to tell him.

"It's always Draco. Always."

"Lyra, don't -"

"I don't care what you do to me," she said, silent tears pouring down her cheeks. "Just … just don't hurt Draco anymore."

"So you admit it?" Lucius asked tersely.

Lyra nodded, her blonde ringlets bouncing.

"You understand, child," his father continued. "It's a matter of reputation …"

Lucius raised the wand again, but the door of the study banged open. Draco's mother came in, her hair coming down from the elegant twist on her neck and hanging in wild strands.

"Lucius, you

"We cannot have one in the family! The Dark Lord -"

"The Dark Lord has been gone for nine years! Lucius please, your daughter …"

"I'm sorry, Narcissa, I truly am." He raised the wand again.

"No!" she screamed, putting herself in front of Lyra, her hand plunging in her pocket for her wand. Lucius sent her flying across the room with a single flick and she collapsed, unconscious as blood trickled from her hair.

Draco scrabbled to his feet and grabbed his sisters' hand. He turned to face his father, shaking in fear. He didn't have a wand yet, or anything. He didn't know any proper magic.

"I won't let you hurt her," he said, his voice trembling.

"You dare defy me?" Lucius hissed.

He stood his ground, but his father leapt forward, grabbing him by his hair to drag him backwards. "I'm going to make you watch this," he snarled as Draco clawed his hand, trying to make him let go. "Then you'll see what happens when you defy me."

"No, I won't let you, you can't hurt her -"

He yanked Draco's head back, forcing him to stare at Lyra, who was standing silently in the doorway. She met his eyes with her own grey ones, so similar to his own, both brimming over with tears. "I love you, Draco," he heard her whisper.

Lucius pointed the wand at her, and she stared stonily back at him.

"No, Lyra!

"Avada Kedavra!"

* * *

"Malfoy?" Hermione said worriedly. He had been sleeping soundly up till a few minutes ago, when he had started fidgeting and moaning in his sleep, his eyes roving blindly under the lids.

"I won't let you hurt her," he muttered.

"Malfoy, wake up!"

"No, I won't let you, you can't hurt her -" He started thrashing.

She slipped off the sofa and knelt down next to his head. "Malfoy, wake up!" she said, smoothing her fingertips over his face. "It's only a dream."

"No, Lyra! _Lyra!_" he screamed.

His eyes flew open, and once again were as black as night. Suddenly long fingers were wrapped around her throat, squeezing hard –

"Malfoy -" she choked.

But he had already released her, a look of utter horror on his face and she fell backwards onto the floor.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, leaping to the floor and taking her shoulders roughly in his hands. She automatically flinched back and he let go.

"Are you alright?" he asked, no longer touching her.

She coughed slightly, raising her fingers to her throat. "I'm fine."

"I'm … sorry."

She took her hand gingerly away from her neck, wondering if she would have bruises.

"I just ... I thought … Sorry Granger."

He got to his feet and walked to the window, bracing his elbows on the ledge. She knew it wasn't his fault – she had woken him u in the middle of a nightmare after all, but he has still taking the blame on himself. He looked so lost that she cautiously got to her feet and walked up behind him, placing her hand on his shoulder blade.

"What happened to her?" she asked softly.

"My father killed her."

He must have heard her stifled gasp, since he glanced briefly at her and continued in the same blank, monotonous voice.

"She was a squib. When I was young, when ever I would do magic I would pretend it was her. Father figured it out eventually, of course."

"I'm sorry -"

"I don't want your pity, Granger," he snapped, a facet of his former self returning.

"I wasn't offering you my pity, I was offering you my sympathy."

"And there's a difference?"

"Yes, there is."

He sighed and turned to look at her, his eyes unexpectedly soft despite the swirling blackness in them. "I didn't mean to snap at you, it's just … I don't like being weak."

"Having a nightmare doesn't make you weak," she said.

He turned back to the window. "Yes, it does."

Deciding that he was in no mood to argue, Hermione simply stared out of the window over the garden with him. They were silent for a long moment, then Malfoy frightened the life out of her by taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his face towards him. Stunned, she held the window ledge in a white knuckled grip, wandering if she should go for her wand. He stepped closer to her, his black eyes focused on her mouth as he bent his head –

A loud, familiar ringing echoing through the house made them both jump.

Hermione glanced over at the telephone, then back at Malfoy, who was still holding her chin. Wordlessly, he released her and she walked shakily over to the phone.

"Hello?" she said.

"Mione?" a familiar voice said. "Mione, it's Amelia."

She covered the mouthpiece of the phone with one hand. "Can you excuse me for a minute?" she said to Malfoy. He didn't reply, but simply folded his arms over his chest and leant back against the window, staring at her.

"What's up?" she asked into the phone, turning away from Malfoy as she spoke.

"I was wondering if you would please, _please_ cover my shift at the café this afternoon?"

"I can, but why?"

"Well I had originally swapped a few shifts with Matt so I can go to the Fair tomorrow evening, but now he's gone and backed out, but I've already made plans with Josh this evening -"  
"Don't worry about it, I'm there."

"Thank you! I'll owe you forever, Mione!

"No problem."

"So have you heard much from _Draco_ since the other day?" she asked, her voice turning businesslike.

Her eyes flickered over to Malfoy. "Erm …"

"Because I was thinking, if you bought him to the Fair it could be like a group date – Emma's bringing Tony and Ross finally plucked up the courage to ask out Claire."

"I don't know, Amelia …"

"Come on, it will be fun! The girls are all dying to meet him!"

"What?" she demanded.

"Well I kind of told them all about him …"

"Amelia, you didn't …" she said, pinching the bridge, feeling a headache coming on.

"So what? I could totally tell he was into you, I'm sure he would say yes if you asked him."

This was so not a conversation she wanted to be having with Malfoy standing only ten feet away – especially since she _thought_ he might have been about to kiss her before the phone rang.

"I told you, there is nothing -"

"Mione, I've got to go!" Amelia said, sounding frantic. "Josh is at the door – promise me you will at least _think_ about inviting Draco?"

"Fine, but don't hold your breath."

"Bye Mione!"

"Bye." There was a click as she hung up, and turned nervously to Malfoy. "That was Amelia, I have to go into work today."

He nodded. "And what about this Fair you are supposed to be inviting me to?"

"How did you -?"

"I heard you talking about it, just now," he said, looking at her like she was crazy.

Hermione frowned – there was no way he would have been able to glean that she was supposed to be inviting him out just from her side of the conversation. "Could you … hear Amelia?"

"Of course."

She rubbed her temples, trying to push away her growing headache. "Don't tell me super-hearing is a Veela thing too?"

"Why would I need super-hearing?" he asked, his expression confused. "I only – wait, was I not supposed to be able to hear her?"

"Not from ten feet away, no."

"Probably is a Veela thing then," he said musingly. "That's new … though the book did say I would develop more traits as I got closer to my birthday."

"How wonderful," she said sarcastically.

"So what exactly is a Fair?" he wanted to know.

"It's a muggle event with rides and … well, its hard to describe."

"Guess I will have to find out when I see it then."

"You … you're not coming, are you?" she asked.

He shrugged, "I'm interested."

"But you will have to spend time with _Muggles_," she said, unable to fathom his behaviour.

"Worth it, I guess."

"What's worth it?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously.

He simply smirked at her. "What time are you leaving here?"  
"Probably about eight o'clock," she replied stupidly, cursing her instinct to answer every question asked of her. "But you -"

"I'll be here by eight then."

Her temper snapped. "Malfoy, what makes you think I want you there?"

"You're snappy," he said, amused by her irritation. "What's wrong now?"

"What's _wrong_ is that you just eavesdropped on a private conversation and invited yourself out with us!"

"So?" he said, unimpressed. "Apparently your friends want me to come, and I dint exactly learn anything with my _unintentional_ eavesdropping except the names of your friends and that Amelia thinks I like you."

"Do you?" she asked bluntly, and instantly regretted the question.

Malfoy's eyes slitted at her. "What do you think?"

"I have no idea," she said honestly.

"Since you asked me, its only fair that I get to ask you," he said almost menacingly. "Do _you_ like _me_?"

She thought of the way their arguing and name calling had turned into friendly banter, how he had lent her books and looked after her when she was unconscious. She thought of the way his eyes had looked just a moment ago as he had moved towards her –

And then she remembered the six years of insults and taunts she had put up with, the malicious pranks and trying to get Hagrid sacked …

She swallowed, hard. "No, I don't," she said, wondering if she was lying.

Malfoy's eyes flashed and he stalked towards the front door. "Looks like I will have to try harder then," he said, pulling open the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Granger," he said over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him.


	5. All's Fair in Love and War

Draco stared up at the huge muggle building with a martyred look on his face. Granger was irritated with him for his _accidental_ eavesdropping and the results that had followed, so he was planning an attempt to get back on her good side the only way he knew how.

Bribery – or rather, a present.

There was no way this could _possibly_ work, yet it was the only idea he had.

Fortunately though, he had a fairly good idea of what to get her. The bad thing was, he didn't think it would be received well.

Sure, presents might work on someone like Pansy, but this was _Hermione Granger_, for Merlin's sake! She wasn't the type to be bought or taken in by displays of wealth, which was a pity since she had already seen the Manor. No, the only thing he was going to achieve here was total failure and most likely ridicule.

He scowled at the building, internally debating whether or not to go inside. His head was telling him that he didn't _need_ to make amends of any sort. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoy's never said sorry for anything – particularly things that were not his fault! After all, how was he supposed to turn off his hearing?

But, for the sake of the Veela blood that was running hot through his veins, urging him to find a way to please his God-damn _mate_, he was going to have to try.

"Damn Mudblood," he muttered to himself - _she_ wasn't here, so it wasn't like she could tell him off, though he did feel a slight twinge of guilt. But only a small one.

He sighed and forced himself to walk into the muggle shopping centre. Despite what everyone thought at Hogwarts, Draco was actually well informed about muggle money and even owned a credit card. His father had considered it a necessary part of his education while growing up, since the family had occasionally indulged in purchasing famous art pieces and sculptures.

The only things that Draco had ever bought with muggle money, however, were his piano and books. He had a slight soft spot for muggle books; some of them were actually good stories, while others were simply amusing to laugh at when the writers got perceptions of magic completely wrong.

He looked at the shop fronts, wondering which one would sell what he wanted. A display window filled with muggle devices that ran off _electricity_ caught his eye and he stalked over. He headed straight to the counter, where an unclean looking man with long hair and a lip piercing was lounging.

"Can I help you?" he asked, bored.

"I am looking to buy an _i-Pod_," Draco said in his most aristocratic voice, hoping he had got the name right.

"What kind?" the man intoned dully.

"A blue one," he said, since that was the colour Grangers had been.

"Yes, but what _kind_?"

"Excuse me?"

"Did you want a nano, a touch, a shuffle …?" he trailed off uneasily as Draco gave him a haughty look to cover his confusion. It was another trick of his fathers; never let on that you don't understand something, let others think _they_ were the ones who were wrong. Audacity and arrogance made the upper-classes what they were, and they were superior for a reason.

The man shifted nervously as the silence grew, and then brightened. "Perhaps you would like to see some?"

Draco nodded stiffly.

The man led him over to another counter, and clustered among other weird muggle objects was the device that Granger had used – only there was a rainbow of colours to choose from. Not only was there blue, but also red, green, pink, silver and other colours.

"Those ones," he said, pointing.

He nodded, "And you said you wanted blue?"

"Wait …" Draco said, having caught sight of a display rack containing the worm-like devices that actually played the music - _headphones_, had she called them? They too came in a variety of colours, and he couldn't help but notice a pair that was shiny, metallic gold …

"Actually I think I will have _that_ one," he said, pointing down amongst the colours. "And these too." He grabbed the headphones and put them on the counter.

The man pulled out the i-Pod from the others and set it down with the headphones. "Did you want a laser inscription on the back? They are on special offer this week."

"And what is that?" he asked indifferently.

"You can get something written on the back of the i-Pod, if you want."

Draco thought hard, wondering what he should write. Eventually it came to him, and he told the man what he wanted written.

"What does that mean?" the sales man asked confusedly.

"None of your business," Draco said firmly.

"Right, sorry …" He focused on whatever machine was being used to inscribe the metal. "So … I take it this is a gift for someone?" he said hesitantly, clearly unsure how an attempt at conversation would be received.

"Yes," he replied curtly.

"Girlfriend?"

Draco smirked. "Not yet."

* * *

At exactly eight o'clock that evening the doorbell rang, and Hermione had absolutely no doubt about who it would be.

Sure enough, when she pulled open the door Malfoy was standing in the puddle of light cast by the porch light, wearing muggle clothes.

"Hello," he said, smirking at her.

"You know I didn't exactly invite you to this, Malfoy," she said, grabbing her bag from the banister.

He rolled his eyes. "Well hello, Draco, how nice to see you. Won't you come in?" he said in a sarcastic imitation of her, his piercing grey eyes alight with amusement.

"Shut it," she said, wondering how he managed to get under her skin with just a few childish words. "Come on, let's get this over with."

"Aren't you a little ray of sunshine," Malfoy observed as she practically dragged him down the garden path. He seemed more entertained by her anger than annoyed.

"You seem to be in a better mood today," she said instead of a witty comeback, remembering how they had both been snapping at each other the day before.

"You don't," he retorted, earning a small, reluctant smile from Hermione. "I was fairly edgy yesterday, after …" he didn't finish the sentence, but she knew what he meant – after the nightmare.

"Yeah, me too," she said, remembering how he had almost strangled her as she had tried to wake him.

"So what's got you grouchy today?" Malfoy asked cheerfully while they walked through the village.

"The thought of having to show you off in front of my friends," she said honestly. She had been panicking all day, wondering what, precisely, Amelia had told them about Malfoy.

"Don't worry about that," he said confidently. "I will be charm incarnate."

"That's what worries me."

"Hmm?"

I'm worried they will actually take a liking to you, then I will have to come up with some sort of story once our truce is over about why they can't see you anymore."

At the mention of the truce, Hermione noticed his eyes tighten a little, and when he spoke it seemed to be with forced lightness. "Well if you want to keep me all to yourself, I can be a scoundrel."

"Scoundrel? Who says scoundrel anymore?"

"I do – apparently."

She laughed, he had sounded almost bemused at what he said.

"That's what I've been waiting for, that laugh," he murmured, looking sideways at her.

Hermione flushed; she wasn't used to Malfoy, or anyone really, saying things like that to her – though he surely hadn't meant it in a romantic way.

"So where is this place?" he asked, interrupting her mental musings.

"Just around this corner actually," she replied, since they were coming towards the end of the village, where the Fair was being held in a field; she could already hear the music of the rides. "And remember, you bought this entirely upon yourself by inviting yourself along."

"Come on, it can't be that bad …" his voice tailed off as they rounded the corner and were faced with a monstrosity of lights and music.

* * *

Draco stared around the Fairground with a mixture of fascination and horror. All around them were whirling machines full of flashing lights and playing garish music. Everything was so unmistakably _muggle_ that he didn't quite know where to look.

There were parents towing children around by their hands and groups of teenagers strutting through the Fair. Everyone was smiling and laughing or, if they were on the rides, shrieking with delight. There was an atmosphere of infectious excitement in the air, reminding him of a Quidditch match.

It was Granger's turn to wear the smirk as she led him through the stalls and around the machines. He could see why she had thought he wouldn't like it, after all there were muggles _everywhere_. They kept brushing against him as he walked, making him feel very uncomfortable.

"So, what did you want to go on first?" she asked, a distinctive note of mischief in her voice at the idea of him actually being on one of these ridiculous rides – sometimes he thought the girl was more Slytherin than him.

"Nothing," he said stubbornly. "And you cannot make me – _watch it!_" he yelled as someone bashed right into him.

He turned around and saw a little girl, no older than five collapsed on the ground from where she had bounced off him. She blinked up at him in shock and then her tiny face crumpled as she started crying.

"Malfoy, what did you do?" Granger demanded, kneeling down next to the girl.

"I -"

"_Why is my daughter crying?_" a woman came bearing down on them, swooping down to pick up her daughter. "What's wrong, pumpkin?"

The little girl pointed at Draco through her tears and her mother gave him a furious look.

"It wasn't my fault," he said defensively. "She -"

"You might want to tell you boyfriend that it isn't nice to make little girls cry," the woman hissed venomously at Granger before carrying her daughter away.

Granger got to her feet and hit him hard on the chest.

"Ow! What did you do that for?" he said, rubbing the spot she had hit.

"You made her cry!"

"She walked into me!" he retorted.

"But you didn't need to shout at her, did you?"

No, he hadn't, but he also hadn't seen that it was a tiny little girl until _after_ he had yelled.

He shrugged in a nonchalant way he knew she would hate and Granger actually growled in frustration.

"Come on," she said, grabbing his arm and steering him through the Fair.

She led him to one of the bigger rides, up the steel steps to the platform and practically forced him into a seat before he had realised what had happened. The ride they were on had lots of carts that apparently went around a track that had an uneven floor. The word _Waltzer_ was painted in huge letters above their heads.

"What on earth is this?" Draco asked cautiously.

Granger pulled a metal bar down over their legs with unnecessary force and gave him a triumphant look. "Revenge."

"What?"

"This, my dear Malfoy," she said in a falsely sweet voice. "Is the fastest ride in the Fairground and is going to make you regret that you ever yelled at that little girl," she said.

He gave her a sceptical look. "It doesn't look so bad," he said, looking around as the other carts filled with people.

"You think so?" she said, smiling rather nastily at him. "My friend Emma threw up last time."

He didn't reply since a man who had come for their money walked up to their cart. Wordlessly, Draco pulled a muggle note out of his pocket and handed it to him before Granger could reach into her bag.

"Is this … safe?" he asked once the man had gone, trying to sound like he didn't care.

"It's safe enough."

"So what exactly does this ride _do_?" he wanted to know.

"You'll see."

As if on cue the carts started to slowly move. Their cart, which had been on the top of one of the ramps, span violently as it descended, making his stomach flip over. He grabbed at the bar instinctively. "Merlin's beard!"

"Its hardly even started yet."

The music grew louder and the carts moved faster and faster, spinning around with each dip and incline. The force of the ride threw them together until they were squashed side by side, her body impossibly warm even through their layers of clothing. The sensation of hurtling along the track was not dissimilar to riding a broomstick – Draco started to laugh.

"Why are you laughing?" she shouted over the music.

"This is fun!" he yelled back.

"You like it?"

"Yes!"

Granger started to laugh with him as the ride grew steadily faster. She grabbed his hand and prised it from the bar, lifting it into the air with hers. With both hands up, she whooped playfully while Draco simply laughed.

The ride stopped far too soon for his liking, especially since he had no excuse to keep holding her hand.

"That _was_ fun," he told her as they stumbled away from the platform.

"You weren't supposed to enjoy it," she said, recovering from her giggles. She lifted her hands to cup the back of her neck. "My head feels like its going to fall off."

He knew the feeling. The force of the ride had pushed their heads back against the barely-cushioned back of the cart. "Now you know what Nearly-Headless-Nick feels like."

She laughed and he said, "Let's go on again!"

"Now?" she asked.

"Why not?"

"Well you can hardly walk straight for a start," she pointed out.

"Neither can you," he said, grinning since they were both wobbling their way as they walked. "I must say, though, if that's your idea of revenge I'm not exactly worried about provoking you in the future."

She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then brightened suddenly.

"Let's see how well you do on this then," she said, leading him over to a stall that had massive stuffed toys hanging from the ceiling. "This is something thoroughly muggle, which I doubt you will be able to do."

"What is it?"

"A shooting game. _This_-" she said, holding up a very odd looking muggle device with a long nozzle at the end, "-is a gun. You see those wooden ducks? You've got to shoot as many of them as possible by pulling this trigger."

That didn't sound too hard, Draco thought. As she demonstrated what he had to do, the owner of the stall came bustling over to demand their money. Granger paid as he examined the gun.

He lifted the gun and pointed it at the targets. It was just like aiming a wand. The ducks would flash up and then duck back down as he shot at them – he hit eight out of ten.

"How did you _do_ that?" she demanded incredulously while the stall owner looked faintly dismayed.

He smirked at her. "I'm a Seeker, I have excellent eyesight and reflexes."

She rolled her eyes. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Be nice to people?" he suggested dryly and she laughed.

The stall owner interrupted them by bringing over Draco's prize – a giant pink teddy-bear.

"What the hell do you take me for?" he demanded, giving the man a disgusted look.

The stall owner didn't look phased. "Well if you don't want it you could always give it to your girlfriend," he said, nodding at Granger.

Draco turned to her, his eyebrows raised questioningly. "Not a chance," she said, her brown eyes bright with humour.

"Then what am I supposed to do with it?" he asked as the man shoved it into his arms so that he could go deal with other customers.

"Give it to Snape?" she suggested lightly.

He laughed at the image of this pink monstrosity in Snape's gloomy office.

"Well if you really don't want it …" she stared pointedly over his shoulder. Turning, Draco saw the same little girl he had knocked over, still sniffling as her mother talked to another stall owner.

He glanced back at Granger, who nodded encouragingly. Sighing, he walked over towards them.

"Here," he said gruffly, offering the little girl the teddy.

Hearing his voice, the mother turned around, looking slightly surprised to see the man she had been shouting at not long ago. She looked between the bear in her daughters' arms and his uncomfortable expression. "Is this an apology?" she said confusedly.

Draco shrugged. "You could say that."

"Thank you!" the little girl said, beaming as she clutched the teddy close to her, all trace of tears gone.

He gave them a faint smile and stalked back over to Granger, leaving the incredulous mother and elated daughter behind.

"_That_ was the most adorable thing I have ever seen," an unfamiliar voice said.

They both turned around and were confronted by a group of people their own age. He recognised the girl from the café, Amelia. These were obviously Grangers friends and were all looking at him with interest.

The girl who had spoken smiled at him. "I take it you're Draco?"

"That's me," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets.

What followed was a confusion of introductions, and he didn't even try to remember names. They were all asking questions over each other, and the next thing he knew he was being steered towards another ride, this one apparently called 'Dodgems'.

The girls had commandeered Grangers arms as they walked and were talking in conspiratorial whispers. From the glances they were sending his way and Grangers uncomfortable expression, he guessed they were talking about him.

He was left walking with the other three boys. One of them cleared his throat. "So how long have you and Hermione been going out?"

"We aren't actually together," he replied. _Yet._

"So is it a 'just friend's' sort of thing?" another one of them asked.

"Actually no," he said, wondering why all muggles were so excessively nosy. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

The boys cast each other looks at his dismissive tone and changed the subject. He was asked which football team he supported, to which Draco responded with a blank look – but fortunately they had reached the ticket stall of the Dodgems, so the conversation was averted.

"Shall we go in couples?" Amelia suggested once they bought their tokens.

The rest of the group immediately dispersed, clambering into little carts, leaving Draco and Granger standing together.

"What does this ride do?" he asked her in a whisper as they made their way to a green cart.

"You drive around and you have to try and hit other people's car."

"Why?" he said, bewildered – that was like deliberately flying into someone on a broom.

"It's just the point of the game. Are you going to steer?" she asked, another mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Are you joking?" he replied, getting into the side of the cart that didn't have the steering wheel.

The ride started and the carts instantly began to move. Within moments their car had been ruthlessly hit by a snickering boy with dark brown hair and unhealthy looking skin.

"Did you see that?" Draco demanded incredulously. "He just hit us, let's get him!"

But she had turned the cart instead towards her friends.

"Where are you going? He went that way -"

"Malfoy, I'm not going to go harass some bratty teenage boy, okay?"

He frowned and reached forward, grasping Granger by her hips – she gasped, but he had already picked her up and slid her smoothly over his lap, leaving him in the driver's seat. "Well if you won't, I will," he said, smirking at her.

She blinked at him in shock, and then started to laugh again.

He quickly got the hang of the steering – it was quite simple, turn the wheel left to go left and right to go right – and was on the teenage boys tail. He bashed into the side of the car, visibly jolting the boy, who turned and glared at them.

Throughout the ride they played a game of cat and mouse, culminating in the boy being trapped in a corner with Draco slamming repeatedly into him while Granger giggled beside him and gave him instructions.

When the ride finished the boy gave them both a haughty look and stumbled away, rubbing the back of his neck which was no doubt sore from being jolted so much.

They met back up with Grangers friends, but they were both a little distracted from laughing, and so they ended up together at the back of the group as they meandered through the Fair.

"Look, a photo booth!" she said, pointing a white cubical. "Want to go in?"

"Err sure," he said, not quite understanding. He let her pull him inside and pull the curtain closed. It was such an enclosed space that they were practically pressed together. She pushed him onto the little stool and bent over to feed money into the slot before shoving him over to join him on the seat.

"What is this?" he asked as a she pressed buttons.

"It basically a camera, it takes photos of you – now look here and smile."

He smiled with her, staring at the little screen. Catching her refection next to his own, he turned to look at her. Her hair was wild and curly, yet it made her features look even more delicate. She caught him looking and pulled a face. He pulled one back and they both laughed.

"Come on," she said, pushing him out of the booth.

"That's it?"

"Yeah, it's done," she reached down and pulled a strip of photos out of a second slot on the outside. There were four photos, but he barely had time to glance at them before –

"Hermione?" It was her friends, they had obviously noticed that they were missing and had come to look for her.

"Over here," she called, tearing the photo in half so that there were two sets of two photos and handing one to Draco.

Her friends rounded the corner, so he stuffed the photo in the pocket of his jeans.

"We were just going into the Haunted House, do you two wanna come?" one of the guys asked, jabbing his thumb towards an obviously fake house with plastic cracked windows.

"What is the point of a Haunted House at a Fair?" he whispered to Granger as they walked.

"It's supposed to be scary for children," she replied.

Draco shook his head. "I'm telling you, muggles are weird – who would want to _frighten_ their children for entertainment?"

She giggled, but one of her friends interrupted _again_. "Are you two going in?"

"Can't be worse than the Shrieking Shack, can it?" he said to Granger.

"What?" the other girl said, confused.

She shot him a glare, and then said, "There's an old abandoned building near out school, and people think it's haunted."

"Not a haunted as out school though," he said cheerfully, wanting to watch her discomfort.

One of the boys snorted. "You believe in ghosts?"

"You don't?" he asked sceptically – he saw ghosts on a daily basis!

"Of course not," the boy said.

"But -"

Granger interrupted by stamping on his foot in blatant warning. "You know what, I think we will pass on the Haunted House."

"Why didn't you want to go in?" he asked once her friends had left with promises to meet them later.

"If you couldn't handle the idea of muggles not believing in ghosts, I doubt you would have been able to contain yourself in there," she said as they walked towards the edge of the Fair. "You would laugh at all the muggle interpretations of werewolves and zombies."

""Everyone knows zombies don't exist, there are Inferi, but -"

"Precisely my point, Malfoy," she said, smiling at him.

They stopped at another booth and she bought a bag of what looked like pink clouds, which was apparently some sort of food. Wordlessly, they made their way to a fallen tree that was on the edge of the field, slightly away from the lights of the Fair.

"If it difficult?" he asked eventually. "Balancing muggle and normal life?"

"Sometimes," she said, opening the bag. "My life is in the magical world now, so I hardly know what to say to my muggle friends sometimes. And my parents, they are trying to persuade me to go to a muggle university …"

She lapsed into thoughtful silence again, and then sighed. "Candyfloss?" she said, offering him the bag.

"There is no way I am eating something pink," he said firmly.

"I won't tell," she said, smiling. "Promise."

Reluctantly, he reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of the stuff. It was sweet and light when he tried it, meting on his tongue and tasting like sugar and strawberry. "Before you can ask, yes, I like it," he grinned at her.

She smiled back and they finished off the rest of the candyfloss, just chatting together.

They made their way back to the Fair slowly, walking close enough together that he could have reached out and taken her hand.

"What do you say, one more ride?"

"Sure, I'm game," he said.

"Which one do you want to go on?"

He looked around at the rides consideringly, and then grinned. "Let's go on _that_ one."

* * *

Hermione made a face as he pointed at the Ferris wheel. "Why?"

"Because it's the biggest," he said, as if it should be the most obvious reason.

"But it's the most boring -"

"Come on, Granger," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her over.

They paid for their tickets and Malfoy helped her clamber into the cart. Within moments the ride had started moving, and they were being slowly raised above the lights of the Fair. The humidity of the air was replaced by a persistent breeze as the climbed steadily higher. Hermione, who was wearing a short sleeved t-shirt, shivered slightly.

"Why hasn't it started yet?" Malfoy asked, breaking the silence between them.

"It has – this is all it does." She looked at him, his incredulous face was a picture. "I told you it was boring."

He slumped down in the seat, looking put out, but then he brightened slightly. "Nice view though."

"Yeah," she said. The multicoloured lights of the Fair were dancing below them, and in the distance other villages were lit up by streetlamps. She thought she could even see the illuminated windows of Malfoy Manor, but she wasn't sure. She shivered slightly again.

"Cold?" he asked, looking sideways at her.

"I'm fine."

Wordlessly, he started to shrug out of his jacket.

"You're … giving me your jacket?" she said confusedly.

"Lending it to you – I will want it back." He tucked it around her shoulders, leaving his arm around her. It was warm and felt very strange, but not uncomfortable. Other than Harry, Ron and Victor, she had never had a boys arm around her.

"I meant, why are you lending it to me?" she persisted.

"Because you're cold, and I was taught to always act like a gentleman." He turned to her and gave her a crooked smile.

"Even when you're supposed to be being a scoundrel?" she asked, smiling in response.

"Especially then."

"But that's a complete contradiction!" Hermione protested.

"No, its not," he told her. "A real gentleman would never be so forward as to lend a lady his jacket, whereas a scoundrel would do what ever he could to get his arm around her." He smirked at her and tightened his arm around her shoulders to prove his point.

She laughed. "Well other than that – and yelling at a little girl, and giving a twelve year old boy whiplash – you haven't done anything particularly scandalous this evening."

Malfoy was quiet for a moment. "Well, we will have to do something about that, won't we?" he said in a soft, yet determined voice.

"What do -?"

But her words were cut off when she turned to face him and his mouth pressed suddenly against hers. The shock of being kissed by Draco Malfoy made her go rigid, too surprised to push him away.

Clearly taking this as a sign of encouragement, Malfoy's free hand came up to cup her face, his fingertips deliciously warm against her chilled skin. His other hand was in her hair with his arm still around her shoulders. The tip of his tongue ran over her bottom lip, begging for entry.

When she didn't respond he pulled back an inch, gauging her reaction. Their eyes met, and his were black once more; they were also carefully cautious and full of some emotion she didn't recognise.

He very lightly touched his lips to hers again, scarcely brushing them before pulling back again, silently asking if he could continue.

She opened her mouth to ask what on earth he was doing, but the words were smothered once more as his mouth claimed hers again. With her parted lips, this kiss was deeper than before. He groaned low in his throat and tilted his head, holding her face to hers with the grip on her hair.

To her amazement, she felt herself start to kiss him back. She could very faintly taste the sweetness of candyfloss on his tongue. Her hands were entwined in his own hair, before moving down to his neck and then further to feel the sculpted planes of his shoulders.

There was a strange sensation in her chest which seemed to draw her towards him. She hadn't felt anything like this when she had been kissed by Victor. Her first kiss, at the Yule Ball, had been hesitant and her inexperience had made it highly awkward.

But this kiss - _this kiss_ - was everything that the girlish fantasies she had kept hidden inside her had wanted. It was gentle, yet somehow raw at the same time, stoking the fiery feeling in her chest higher – which made the fact that it was _Draco Malfoy_ giving her this wonderful, sensual kiss so much worse.

She pulled back and averted her eyes from his face, staring instead down at the people milling below them. Fortunately, their cart on the Ferris wheel was on its descent. Her cheeks were no doubt burning, but her embarrassment was not nearly as painful as the sudden aching loss of the feeling in her chest.

"That was clever," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral. "Sexually harassing me when I can't escape."

She heard his low chuckle. "I didn't sexually harass you, Granger."

She turned to glare at him, discomforted to see that his hair was messy from where she had run her fingers through it and his cheeks were flushed darker than normal.

He grinned at her angry expression, but there was something almost feral in the smile. "Alright, maybe I did," he drawled. "But you sexually harassed me right back."

"I did not," she said stiffly.

"You did." His voice lowered. "And I must say, I didn't mind in the slightest -"

"Stop it, Malfoy," she snapped, grateful that their cart was approaching the gate. "Whatever game you're playing, end it _now_."

"What makes you think I am playing a game?" he asked, his alabaster brow furrowing.

"I can't see any other reason for you to … to …"

"To kiss you?" He laughed hollowly. "It never occurred to you that I might actually have started to _like_ you?"

"You don't like me," she said confidently, ignoring the twinge inside her. "You said so yesterday."

"Actually, I asked what you thought and you said you didn't know," Malfoy reminded her as their cart came to a halt. There was a definite frosty note in his voice now.

"So you're saying that you _do_ like me?" she asked incredulously, shoving the safety bar viciously away.

"Yes," he said, the bite of impatience at odds with his declaration of affection.

"I don't believe you," she said, scrabbling off the metal stand of the ride and down on to the soft grass below.

He caught up with her in a few strides as she headed towards the exit of the Fair. "What _do_ you believe then?"

"I think you're using this ridiculous truce to manipulate me into doing -"

"Doing _what_, precisely?"

"I don't know - _something_."

He laughed nastily. "Well clearly your reputation as cleverest witch is well deserved if that's what you came up with - _something_."

Hermione ignored him as they left the Fair, not even bothering to find her friends and say goodbye. Neither of them spoke as they walked through the darkened streets of the village.

"You know what I think, Granger?" Malfoy asked after ten minutes of icy silence as they both stalked up her garden path.

"No," she retorted. "And I don't particularly care."

"Well I am going to tell you anyway."

When she ignored him he grabbed her wrist and pulled her forcibly to a halt. "Listen to me, Granger!"

"_What?_" she demanded, yanking her wrist free.

"I think you're letting your paranoia get in the way of the obvious chemistry between us, so you're -"

"Chemistry?" she interrupted sceptically. "I would sooner call it hatred."

Malfoy's hands curled into fists in palpable frustration. "You don't hate me, Granger."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't"

"Yes, Malfoy, I do!"

"You can't" he practically snarled. "My God, _how_ I got stuck with someone like you -"

"I'm not forcing you to stay with me!" she said, her voice coming out very shrill.

"No, but I _want_ to," he said through gritted teeth, his black eyes flashing angrily. "Merlin, can't you _see_ what's going on here?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Well if you haven't figured it out yet, I'm not going to tell you," he said haughtily.

"_Fine_," she retorted. "I don't care anyway. I guess I'll see you at school – where things will be back to _normal_."

"Normal?" he said in a tight voice. "You mean stupid arguments and hatred simply because we are in different houses?"

"Exactly," she hissed venomously.

He stepped closer to her, his face furious. "Just admit it, Granger, we have had fun together these past few days, and so you're just scared you are starting to like me -"

"_I don't like_ -"

"So you're using our differences to try and drive a wedge between us," he said over her in a louder voice. "You're too prejudiced against me to realise that we could be good together and I just can't believe you're using something as utterly petty as house rivalries to stop us!"

He concluded his speech with a frustrated hand gesture – Hermione instinctively flinched back from his clenched fists.

His expression, which had been infuriated, went blank with astonishment at her reaction.

"Granger … _Merlin_, you didn't think I was going to hit you?"

She didn't reply.

Malfoy stepped closer, his eyes now very soft despite the blackness. "I wouldn't hurt you, Granger," he said, reaching out cautiously to touch her face.

She took a step back, away from his fingers. "Goodnight, Malfoy," she said stiffly, her voice shaking slightly from the shock of the sudden change in his emotions.

She turned to go into the house, but his fingers on her wrist stopped her.

Malfoy leaned forward and lightly brushed his lips over her cheekbone in a gentle kiss. "Goodnight, Granger," he murmured against her skin.

And then he turned and walked back down to garden path, stopping only to retrieve his broom from the bushes. He glanced back at her briefly, but his eyes were unreadable. Without another word, he mounted his broom and had vanished into the darkness, leaving a thoroughly bewildered Hermione behind.

* * *

Draco flew as fast as he could towards the Manor. The air stung his bare arms with cold – he had given Granger his jacket, he remembered. She had been shivering, but he hadn't been cold at all. His Veela blood had been on fire simply from that close proximity to her.

And when he had kissed her – her lips had been intoxicatingly warm, moving with his own and he had _felt_ his eyes darken with lust.

But then her reaction. She didn't trust him – of _course_ she didn't trust him, and she didn't believe his motives either. They had argued fiercely with each other and he had to get away from her, worried that if he stayed too close to Granger he would say or do something _else_ that he would regret – not that he regretted the kiss, not at all.

Yet before the arguing … they had been getting along fine together at the Fair, laughing and having fun – the most fun he had had in ages.

He landed hard on his balcony, jarring his legs. The last time he had been out on the balcony Granger had been with him, and she had been wearing those pyjamas. He smiled slightly as he remembered her indignation.

The outside door to his room was open, as it always was, so he let himself in. He crossed straight to his bed, and threw himself face down on the covers. After a long moment he rolled back over and pulled the photos out of his pocket, looking at them for the first time.

A proper smile lit his face as he studied the strip. In the first of his two pictures he and Granger were pulling faces at each other, and in the second they were laughing. For once, the muggle photos with their stillness didn't creep him out; instead he rather liked that these two pictures were frozen in time, unmoving.

He placed the strip on top of the Veela book on his bedside table and then opened one of the draws, where he had left her present – if there was any time for a him to make amends, he supposed it was now.

He grabbed the wrapped package and a piece of parchment from his desk, writing a single word. He then whistled and a moment later his eagle owl soared through the open balcony door. The owl clasped the package in its claws and took the note in his beak before flying off again.

Having done all he could, Draco lay back down on his bed. He stared at the ceiling, wondering if she would like the present, or if she would even reply. With all the thoughts whirling around his head, he knew he would have trouble sleeping that night.

* * *

Hermione padded across the landing towards her bedroom, a towel wrapped around her. After the nights events she had spent a good half hour in the bath, mulling everything that had happened over in her head. She had got out when her skin had started to wrinkle, but the hot water had done little good in helping her come up with either an explanation or a solution.

She pushed open her window, hoping to tempt in a breeze to cool off the humidity in her room, and sat down on the bed. Malfoy's jacket, which she had forgotten to give back to him, was beside her, with her bag on top of it. Reaching over, she unzipped the bag and rummaged around inside until she found what she was looking for.

She stared down at the two pictures of her and Malfoy. In the first one they were both smiling, looking at the camera, but in the second Malfoy had turned to look at her, his expression thoughtful. She remembered catching him looking and pulling a face at him, they had both laughed as he had pulled one back.

A large eagle owl suddenly soared through her window and landed on her desk, startling her. She knew instantly who this message must be from – after all, Harry used Hedwig and Ron used Pig, so it wasn't going to be either of them.

Crossing to her desk with the picture in her hand, she took the note and the package from the owl, which hooted softly at her. Unfolding the note, she bit her lip as she read a single word in Malfoy's elegant calligraphy.

_Sorry_.

Taking a deep breath around her racing heart, she moved onto the package which was wrapped up in plain brown paper, wondering what she would find.

Slowly opening it, she gasped as a gorgeous red i-Pod fell out into her hand. It had shiny gold headphones wrapped around it – her house colours.

Turning it over, she noticed the inscription on the back and her heart just about stopped.

_Gryffindor Princess_, it read.

She sank down onto her covers, the note and the strip of photos clutched to her chest with the beautiful new i-Pod in her lap, wondering what on earth she was going to do about Draco Malfoy.


	6. Determination of a Slytherin

Draco sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He had tossed and turned all night, eventually falling into an uneasy sleep in the early hours of the morning. It was now passed eleven o'clock and the harsh light of day was streaming through the curtains he had forgotten to shut the night before.

Groaning, he heaved himself out of bed and unlocked the doors of the balcony, hoping the fresh air would clear his head.

To his surprise, he found his eagle owl roosting on the railing, its head tucked under its wing. There was a letter tied neatly to its leg. It had obviously tried to get in and found the doors locked, so it had decided to sleep.

Careful not to wake the owl, he untied the note with trepidation, wondering what Grangers response would be. He hesitated, and then forced himself to open it.

_Can we talk?  
H._

He smirked to himself. Perhaps presents worked better than he thought.

* * *

Hermione was restless, pacing the house with an almost frenetic energy. She had scarcely slept the night before, wondering how she had got herself into this situation and rehearsing what she would say to Malfoy, thinking up possible scenarios for his responses.

She had sent his owl back to him early this morning, once her parents had left for work, but she hadn't got a reply yet. Both of them had commented that she seemed tense and preoccupied, but fortunately neither of them had pressed the matter.

She wandered into the kitchen and started to half-heartedly make a cup of tea to calm herself down.

"Good morning," a familiar drawling voice startled her, just as she was pouring the hot water into the teacup.

She gasped as the scalding water cascaded over her hand – and an instant later she was standing at the sink, her fingers being run under cold water.

Malfoy was standing behind her, holding her hand beneath the tap. She half turned to face him, but the front of his body was pressed against her back, pinning her to the sink.

"Sorry," he murmured in her ear. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Did you let yourself in?" she demanded, trying to ignore the way his long fingers moved over hers, soothing the reddened skin.

"I landed in the back garden," he told her casually. "The patio door was open and I saw you in here, so yes, I let myself in."

She couldn't be bothered to chastise him, knowing he wouldn't care and would probably just do it again anyway, so instead she pulled her fingers from the icy stream to examine them. They didn't hurt much anymore, they just felt numb.

Turning around properly, she found herself face to face with Malfoy. He had braced his hands on the sink on either side of her, caging her in. His eyes were bright, piercing grey without a hint of black in them yet and his platinum hair was windblown. It would look odd, she thought, when she saw him with his hair in his usual aristocratic style once they got back to school, instead of being all tousled and falling over his brilliant eyes.

Nervous from their closeness, she broke eye contact with him and glanced around the kitchen. Her gaze landed on the shiny red i-Pod, which she had left on the counter. She had been carrying it around the house with her, wanting to hold it as much as possible before she gave it back to him.

He followed her gaze and smirked. "Like it?"

"Yes, and thank you," she said, swallowing. "But I, umm … I can't accept it."

"And why not?" he frowned.

"Because I don't understand why you gave it to me," she said agitatedly.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean, I don't understand!" she exclaimed. "I can understand Barrufio's theory of advanced Charms and I can understand all of the factors behind the 1712 Goblin Rebellion, but I simply _cannot_ understand you -"

Malfoy silenced her with a finger over her mouth.

She stared up at him, he met her gaze steadily and he slowly leaned forward. Her eyes drifted shut as he gently pressed his cool lips to hers in a soft kiss.

"Malfoy -"

"Shh," he murmured, his hands now cupping her face as he deepened the kiss. Helpless, she simply allowed him to kiss her, making no move to respond. How did he make her feel like this with such a small, simple touch?

He pulled back slightly, letting his fingers trail down her neck to rest on her shoulders, sending shivers through her body. His mouth followed the path of his fingers, lightly kissing the skin on her throat until she gasped and squirmed against the sink.

This was wrong. She knew it was wrong, yet her body still responded to him.

Forcing her mind above her body, she moved her hands to his chest, about to push him away - but his fingers captured her own, keeping them still.

"Don't analyse it, Granger. Just let yourself feel it."

He released her fingers and she felt his arms snake around her waist, drawing her closer to him.

"I feel … I feel …"

"Yes?" he breathed against the sensitive hollow just below her ear.

She knew she had to talk to him about something important, she had to ask him something, but he distracted her by biting gently on her ear lobe.

What was the point in fighting it, really? She wondered.

Bringing her hands up to his hair, she tilted his head and met his mouth with her own. He made a startled noise and moved to kiss her back with equal passion, pressing her body to the sink behind her.

Talk could come later, she thought. She sighed into his mouth and, for now, simply let herself kiss him.

"Wait, wait," she said, pulling away eventually, gasping for breath.

Draco's breathing was uneven too. "What's wrong?"

"I needed to talk to you," she said, disentangling her arms from around his neck.

"What about?"

She bit her lip, distracting him momentarily. Her lips were a deep red from the pressure of his own and her cheeks were flushed an endearing pink to match.

"I need to know, what did you mean when you said 'Can't you see what's going on here?'" she asked, meeting his eyes with her own cautious brown ones.

"I meant … I meant couldn't you see that I was starting to like you." It was the truth, but it was also a lie – he knew she wasn't ready to hear that she was his Mate.

She lowered her eyes nervously. "It's just – well – you also said … 'How did I get stuck with you' …"

He didn't reply.

"I have to point out that your, um, _affection_ has come on fairly suddenly," she said, now positively babbling her words in an effort to say them as quickly as possible. "And you're getting closer and closer to your seventeenth birthday and I know this is going to sound ridiculous but I can't help but wonder …"

"Yes?" he asked as the silence became unbearable.

She raised her eyes to his again, and they were full of a mixture of fear, hope, uncertainty and weariness.

"Am I your Mate?"

He closed his eyes as if her soft-as-ash voice had been a blow. If he told her the truth then what would she think … but if he told her no he risked loosing her trust forever.

Sighing, he met her gaze again, knowing that he really only had one choice if he wanted to have any sort of relationship with her.

"Yes," he replied.

Her eyes tightened, but she held his stare. "Do I have a choice in all of this?" she asked.

"We always have choices," he replied dully. Of _course_ she wouldn't want to choose to be with him.

"So I could just … opt out?" she said, her expression lightening slightly.

He nodded reluctantly. There was no way he could force her to be his Mate, despite the consequences to him if she rejected him.

She seemed to read something of his thoughts in his face. "Will anything happen to you if I do?"

He tried to smirk. "Are you thinking of the romance novels witches read where a Veela will die of heartbreak without its Mate?" he asked, drawling his words.

She shrugged, a slight blush staining her cheeks.

"Well well," he said, arching an eyebrow. "Who knew Miss Granger read such torrid books? I guess _Hogwarts: A History_ isn't quite the same for helping you stay warm in the night -"

"Malfoy," she interrupted, her face bleak. She didn't like him joking about this.

"No Granger," he said, finally answering her question. "Nothing will happen to me."

It was a lie – true, he wasn't going to die of heartbreak like they did in the sappy novels, but he wouldn't exactly be skipping around whistling show tunes either. Not that he had done that before.

She nodded slowly, and then tried to smile.

"Look, I'm going to need some time to think, to sort this all out in my head," she said.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked.

She hesitated, and then nodded again.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" he couldn't help asking.

She smiled properly. "Sure, you can come for brunch if you want."

He grinned at her, "I'll go then."

She walked him to the door, opening it politely for him as if she were simply seeing him out and he hadn't just told her that she was his one Veela Mate. "I guess I will see you tomorrow."

"Granger?" he said, turning at the door. "Its only fair to warn you, I may be a Veela, but I am also a Slytherin."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, frowning.

"It means that I am selfish, cunning and resourceful," he told her, staring straight into her fathomless brown eyes. "I am also determined to make you mine."


	7. Burning

As Draco landed his broom in Granger's back garden, he immediately noticed her through the kitchen window. Her damp hair was piled messily on the top of her head, with a few curls drying down around her face. She was flitting about, adding ingredients to a bowl and her lips were moving as if she sung to herself.

Pushing open the back door, he let himself in again. The red i-Pod was sitting in some sort of white machine which played the music out loud instead of through the headphones. Granger was singing along to the song; she glanced up at him and smiled.

"What are we making?" Draco asked, coming up behind her.

"Pancakes," she said airily, stirring the bowl of creamy batter.

"Great," he said, reaching around her to dip a finger into the bowl.

"Fingers out of the mixture, Malfoy!" she chastised, flicking her spoon at him. A globule of mixture landed on his cheek.

He wiped it away with a single finger and raised his eyebrows at her.

"I didn't mean to start anything with this," she said, sounding nervous.

He licked the pancake batter off his finger and shrugged, his eyes glinting wickedly. "If you throw food at me, Granger, I'm going to retaliate."

"Malfoy -"

Without giving her time to reply, he leapt at her, grabbing her around the waist. They both toppled over and he twisted so that she landed above him. The moment they were on the floor though, he rolled her beneath him so that he was on top.

"_Malfoy_ -"

Her protest turned into a giggle as his fingers found her stomach, tickling her ruthlessly until she started hitting him with the batter covered spoon.

Neither of them noticed the bowl of pancake mix, which had been knocked to the very edge of the counter by his leap. It tottered precariously for a moment – and then fell.

Most of it landed on Granger's head, but a fair bit went on his shirt. Draco laughed as the sticky mess dripped down her cheeks. She spluttered and wiped mixture out of her eyes so that she could glower at him.

"Opps," he said, still straddling her hips and fighting a smirk.

"_Opps_?" she repeated angrily, sitting up so they were practically nose to nose. "Is that all you can say? You have been in my house barely _two minutes_ and -"

"Don't have an embolism, Granger," he said, smiling innocently. "You were enjoying it just as much as I was."

She tried to glare, but he could see her struggling not to smile. After a moment her angry expression cracked and she grinned at him. "Sorry about your shirt."

"It's fine, I've never been much of a fan of Armani anyway," he told her. "Sorry about your hair."

She reached up to touch the goo that was covering her head and groaned. "I'm going to go take _another_ shower," she said, shoving at his chest until he got off her. They both stood up and Granger cast a critical eye over his now stained shirt. "We better put that in the wash before the mixture dries into it."

"Okay," Draco said, shrugging.

She waited. "Malfoy?"

He grinned at her, enjoying this. "What is it, precisely, that you want, Granger?"

"Will you – please - take off your shirt so I can put it in the wash?" she asked in an aggrieved voice.

He smirked and begun to unbutton his shirt with deliberate slowness while Granger stared determinedly out of the window. "All you have to do is ask."

She took it from him without meeting his eyes and put it in an odd looking white machine with a circular hole at the front. After putting some powder in a little draw and pushing some buttons, she turned back to face him.

He watched as her eyes dipped instantly down to take in his torso and felt a self satisfied smile light his face. She might try to hide it, but she _was_ attracted to him, which was how it was supposed to be.

Her face burned and she swallowed, hard. "Did you want to borrow one of my Dad's shirts?" she asked hopefully.

"I'm fine like this," he replied. He enjoyed watching her discomfort as she tried not to look at his body.

"Of course you are," she muttered, still bright red. If she blushed any more the pancake batter was going to start cooking itself on her face.

"You better get used to this Granger," he drawled, gesturing down at his bare chest. "You're going to be seeing it on a very regular basis."

"Lucky me," she said dryly, wiping a bit more of the mixture off her cheek. "And I suppose I can also look forward to all future meals ending like _this_ too, right?" she said snappily, gesturing to her sticky hair.

"Ending with us rolling around on the kitchen floor and you demanding that I take my clothes off?" He smirked. "_Definitely._"

She gave a frustrated shriek and threw up her hands, while her cheeks were positively crimson now. "I'm going to take my shower. Try _not_ to destroy any other rooms in my house while I'm gone."

He waited until he could hear the water running before snapping his fingers, summoning a House elf from the Manor.

"Clean this up," he ordered, gesturing around the messy kitchen.

The elf bowed and started to clear up, vanishing the pancake mix on the floor just by clapping its hands. Draco left it in there and set off upstairs, wanting to explore Granger's room further since she had interrupted him last time.

He found his jacket from the other night on her neatly made bed, but didn't pick it up. He liked that she had something of his own to remind her of him. Examining her desk, he found the Transfiguration essay McGonagall had given them along with her meticulously organised quills and books.

Turning to her bed to look at her headboard again, he noticed the picture of himself and Granger from the Fair the other night, tacked along with her photos of Potter and Weasley. He grinned and reached for the photo, but –

"Malfoy!"

Granger was standing in the doorway, wrapped only in a short towel and her hair covered with a turban. Her skin was still damp and flushed, with a few lime scented bubbles clinging to it in places, drawing his eyes. Her hands were on her hips; she looked mad.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Same as last time," he said nonchalantly, staring at her legs. His blood burned just from looking at her. "Exploring."

She shooed him out of her room, clutching the towel around her. "Just because you think I'm your Mate doesn't give you the right to snoop through my things – for a second time!"

"I don't _think_, I _know_," he said irritably, letting her hustle him out the door. "By the way, you look sexy as hell all wet and covered in bubbles."

She slammed the door in his face.

He had to admit, things were a lot more fun now that she knew about the whole Veela thing. Instead of tiptoeing around everything, he could simply flirt with her outright.

And she was also taking the news fairly well – sure, she had been stricken when he first told her, and when he had said that he was determined to make her his she had gaped at him from her door as he had flown away. But aside from that, he almost felt he had hope.

Whistling, he went back downstairs.

* * *

Hermione couldn't help a small smile as she shoved the half-naked Malfoy out of her room. Merlin, that boy was _infuriating_, but he had certainly made life interesting.

She could scarcely believe that he thought _she_ was his _Mate_. When she had asked him about it she had thought she was being utterly ridiculous and that he was going to vehemently deny it – but he hadn't.

A part of her had wondered, at first, if it had been a big joke, that Malfoy was going to turn around and scorn her, saying he had just been trying to trick the Mudblood. But instead he had looked straight at her, his eyes holding a determined shine, and told her that he was going to make her his in a voice that rang with sincerity. She couldn't doubt him after that.

Weirdly, things seemed to be even _easier_ between them now, which was unexpected since he had essentially told her that he wanted to be with her and _her alone_ for the rest of his life as her Mate. She supposed that now it was out in the open they could both just say what they thought without any hostility.

Also, she respected him even more for telling her the truth. She could see, behind his light grey eyes, that he had been considering lying to her when she had asked. It didn't mean that she liked him anymore now that she knew the truth, but she did appreciate him not lying.

Dressing in her jeans and a casual t-shirt, she left her wet hair down to dry and headed back downstairs.

As she approached the kitchen she heard Malfoy hiss something to someone, and then the unmistakable crack of Apparation.

"Oh good, there you are," Malfoy said innocently as she came in the room. He had a large bowl in his hands and was stirring it with a spoon – and he was still shirtless.

"What are you doing?" she asked curiously, looking around the suspiciously spotless kitchen.

"Remaking the pancakes," he told her, smiling mischievously, though there was a glimmer of apprehension in his eyes. "I thought you would want more, since the first round ended up on us instead of the saucepan."

"Frying pan," she corrected, suspecting what was going on and who had Apparated.

"Yeah, that's what I meant," he said, smiling confidently.

Hermione walked over and looked in the bowl. So far the mixture was just eggs and milk. "Do you know what ingredient comes next?" she asked, calling his bluff.

"Surely you know that, Granger?" he said, trying to hide his panic with scorn. It was odd how accustomed she had become to reading his expressions.

"I want you to tell me." She smiled at Malfoy's helpless expression.

"Fine, you win," he said exasperatedly. "Shall I call the house-elf back, or do you want to gloat some more first?"

"Gryffindors don't gloat, Malfoy," she said, taking the bowl from him. "And we won't need a house-elf to cook for us, we'll do it ourselves – just keep your fingers out of the mixture this time and we will be fine."

"So what is the next ingredient?"

"Flour, which I put back in that cupboard there," she said, pointing. Malfoy obligingly opened it and passed her the flour.

The mixing of ingredients and pouring the fresh batter into the frying pan went surprisingly smoothly – though Malfoy had tried to pour enough for six pancakes in a single pan and when she corrected him he said incredulously that it was stupid that they couldn't make all of them at once and it would be easier with magic.

"Everything is easier with magic," she said. "Besides, its not _that_ difficult."

"Yeah, for _you_. You grew up doing cooking and this sort of thing" he pointed out.

"Don't tell me, you've never once cooked in your life, have you?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"No point," Malfoy shrugged. "I always had house-elves at home and then I was at school."

"You are _so_ spoilt," she muttered, prodding at the pancake with a spatula.

"Perhaps, but you love me anyway, don't you, Granger?" he said, his eyes sparkling.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "You amuse me, I'll give you that."

* * *

_That wasn't a no,_ he thought, grinning to himself. A loud ringing erupting from the phone in the corner interrupted his mental celebrations.

"Can you get that?" Granger asked, preoccupied with cooking the pancakes.

Draco examined the ringing phone, "Umm, how exactly?"

"Just pick it up, hold it to your ear like I did last time and say 'hello'," she said.

"Like this?" he picked up the phone and held it to his head.

"Yes, now say hello!"

"Hello?" he said into the phone, feeling very apprehensive.

"Hi, it's Harry," a very familiar voice said into his ear. "Is Hermione there, please?"

"Shit, it's Potter," he said frantically.

"Harry?" she said worriedly, looking up from the frying pan.

"_Malfoy?_" an incredulous voice said from down the phone.

"Tell him I'm your father or something."

"He can hear you, you twit!" she said, and he realised he hadn't taken he phone away from his mouth.

"Do I _look_ like a pregnant fish, Granger?" he demanded as he held the phone out to her.

"What?" she said, quickly rubbing flour off her hands.

"You called me a twit, which is the term for a pregnant fish-"

"This is _not_ the time Malfoy – just give me the phone!" She snatched it from his hand. "Hello? Harry?"

* * *

"Hermione, what the _hell_ is Malfoy doing answering your phone and why is he talking about fish?" Harry demanded, wasting no time on pleasantries.

"Malfoy?" she said with forced lightness. "What makes you think -"

"I heard him, Hermione."

She hung her head, decisively ignoring Malfoy, who had leant against the counter and was no doubt listening to their conversation with his damn Veela hearing. "Yes, he's here, but -"

"He hasn't hurt you, has he?" Harry asked in a low, urgent voice. "Are you in some sort of trouble?"

"No, I'm fine -"

"Then what is he doing there?"

"Let me explain …" she glanced at him leaning against the counter and wondered how much she could tell – though there was _no way_ she would tell Harry about the whole Veela thing. He would most likely march right here with Ron and kill him together. She was immensely glad that Harry couldn't see him, since he was still shirtless.

"The thing is, Malfoy and I ran into each other the other day – turns out we live near each other – and he was just lending me some books for the History of Magic project."

Malfoy snorted – so he _was_ listening. "What you don't mention is that all happened last week, and _a lot_ has happened since then,"

Hermione silently shushed him, hoping Harry hadn't heard.

"That's all?" he asked, sounding slightly relieved.

"Pretty much," she said, trying to convince herself it wasn't a lie.

"Why was he lending you books? That doesn't sound like Malfoy, isn't he being mean to you?"

"No, not really," she said, glancing at Malfoy again, who smirked at her. "We've sort of called a temporary truce."

Harry snorted. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"Was there something you wanted to talk about?" she asked, hoping to deflect conversation from her and Malfoy.

"Yeah, but I have to be quick – the Dursley's have just gone out quickly to suck up to some new neighbours who apparently are really rich or something, so I took the opportunity to phone and ask if you wanted to come to Diagon Alley this weekend with me and Ron?"

"Diagon Alley? Sounds great, but I will need to ask my parents if they can take me."

"You can always use the Floo," Malfoy offered from the counter.

"Cool, we are meeting in the Leaky Cauldron at ten o'clock -"

"Wait a minute Harry, Malfoy's talking to me," she interrupted, taking the phone away from her ear. "You would let me?" she asked him.

"Sure," he grinned. "But there is a condition."

"What condition?" she deadpanned.

"Well as you have discovered from first hand experience, the Wards around the Manor don't really like you," he said, his eyes glimmering mischievously. "Now I could grant you access, but I can't do magic outside of school, so the only way for you to get in and out of the Manor via Floo would be for someone of Malfoy blood to take you."

"You want to come with us, don't you?" she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Side along Floo is the only way for you to get to Diagon Alley," he said, folding his arms and leaning back against the counter smugly.

"Harry and Ron are not going to like this," she pointed out.

"I won't actually be coming _with_ you, just escorting you there, then I will go off and meet you back in the Leaky Cauldron later."

Hermione looked at him, wondering if he was planning something but his expression was innocent.

"Besides, I need to buy new school stuff too," he said, smiling winsomely.

She shook her head despairingly, worried about she was getting herself into. "Fine, you can come." She put the phone back to her ear. "Harry?"

"Yup?"

"I'll be there – ten o'clock Saturday, right?"

"Sounds about right. We are going -"

"_Malfoy, the pancakes!_" she shrieked suddenly, noticing the black smoke rising from the frying pan.

He jumped at her voice and leapt towards the oven to take the burning pancakes off the heat.

"Hermione, what -?" Harry started saying, but she wasn't listening.

"_Don't touch the-_"

Too late, Malfoy had already put his hand on the searing hot hob which the frying pan had been on.

"_Ow!_" he yelled, dropping the pan to the floor where it clattered loudly, spilling blackened pancake everywhere. "Ow, mother of _fu-_"

"Harry, I have to go," she said frantically into the phone. "I'll talk to you later."

She hung up the phone and threw it to one side, hurrying over to Malfoy. She vaguely heard the phone hit the wall, but she didn't care. "Are you alright?"

He was sinking down to the floor, cradling his burnt fingers. "Ow, _Merlin_ what was that?"

"You put your hand on the oven," she said, gently taking his fingers in her own to examine them.

"Bloody muggle devices," he muttered. He was clenching his jaw, trying not to show how much pain he was in.

"Come on, we have to cool it down," she said, hauling him to his feet.

Guiding him over to the sink, she ran his fingers under cool water. He sighed in her ear. "You know, I get the feeling we have been here before," he said, casting her a wry glance.

"We have," she smiled, meeting his eyes over the running water. "Only last time it was me with the burnt fingers."

"Why is it that whenever we are together someone seems to get burnt or knocked unconscious, or objects get smashed?"

"Or drowned," she added, remembering her waterlogged i-Pod.

"But why is that, do you think?"

"Probably something to do with how we are always at each others throats arguing."

"Or making out," he said, getting his smirk back.

"Often seems to be one or the other," she said, fighting a smile.

They were silent for a long moment as she ran her fingers over his hand, the same way he had done for her yesterday.

"Granger," he said suddenly, his eyes serious. "Are you … okay with this?"

"The Veela thing?"

He nodded.

"Sort of," she said honestly, tilting her head to one side. "It's rather a lot to take in. Things are definitely different between us since you told me, but …"

"But?"

She sighed and looked at him. "But I'm not just going to turn around and say I want to be with you forever. If this – us – even happens properly at all, its going to happen slowly."

He nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on hers. "But you are considering it?"

She shrugged and averted her eyes.

He was smiling. "That's all I wanted to know, Granger."

"Why do you do that?" she asked suddenly.

"Do what?"

"You nearly always call me Granger, never Hermione."

"You always call me Malfoy" he retorted.

"But why do we do that?"

"If I called you Hermione it would be like I was your friend, like Pot-head or the Weasel. But this, calling you Granger …" He shrugged. "I guess you could say it's a term of affection."

"So we aren't friends?" she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

"No, we're not," he grinned wolfishly at her.

"So if we aren't friends, I suppose I wouldn't be able to invite you out …" She blinked, what on earth had possessed her to say that?

"Like a date?" Malfoy asked, his eyes brightening.

She shrugged nonchalantly, her mind reeling.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, now positively grinning.

"Well there is a nightclub opening in town Friday night …" she said, remembering Amelia asking if she was going to bring Malfoy to it.

"Sounds like fun."


	8. By This Mark

Hermione twisted the cord of the phone around her finger while it rang, waiting for her friend to pick up. Just when she was about to hang up, the phone clicked and a breathless voice said, "Hello?"

"Amelia, it's me," she said. "Bad time?"

"No, its fine. I was listening to my music and didn't hear the phone at first," Amelia said cheerfully. "What's up?"

"I need your help with something."

"What's wrong?" she asked, now sounding slightly concerned.

"Nothings _wrong_," Hermione assured her, not quite sure how to phrase her problem. "It's just … I've invited Malfoy - I mean, _Draco_ - to the club with us tonight."

"Say no more, I'll be there in ten minutes."

* * *

Exactly ten minutes later the doorbell rang. Hermione had just finished hiding all the moving wizard photos under her bed, so she flew down the stairs to open the door. Amelia was standing on the porch, a pair of hair-straighteners in one hand and an ominously large bag in the other.

"So what bought this on?" she asked, crossing the threshold.

"What do you mean?"

Amelia grinned at her. "Well last week you were all 'He's a prat, I hate him!' and now you're dressing up for him."

She shrugged, fighting a smile. "I don't know, it's sort of come on gradually."

"Now spill, what _exactly_ is going on with you two?"

"It's complicated," Hermione sighed as they climbed the stairs to her room.

"That's no excuse and you know it," she said sternly. "You're going to break it down for me while I do your makeup – here, you can do your foundation."

She rubbed the liquid onto her face, blending it in with a sponge and wondering how on earth Lavender and Parvarti managed to do this everyday. Though admittedly it did make her skin look rather pretty.

Behind her Amelia was rummaging through her huge bag and eventually pulled out a small makeup carrier. She emptied pots of glitter and other types of goo and powder on her desk before pointing imperiously to the bed, "Sit – I need to do your eyes. And you're stalling, what's up with you and that beautiful blond of yours?"

Hermione sat and bit her lip, wondering what she could tell Amelia about her and Malfoy.

"I'm waiting, Mione," she reminded her.

"Okay … well up to this summer we both really _did_ hate each other, but recently he's started … wanting me, I guess. So I was pretty wary of him at first, I didn't really trust him."

"But now you like him?" she surmised, attacking her eyes with a kohl pencil.

"I suppose so."

"Then how is it complicated?"

"My friends don't like him, for a start."

""They're your friends, they'll understand."

She snorted while trying to hold her eyes as wide as possible so Amelia could do her mascara, "You don't know Harry and Ron."

"Well, forget about them, we have much more important things to discuss."

"Like what?"

"Like what you're going to wear tonight."

She pulled a face. "Problem is I don't think I have anything suitable."

"What do you think is in here, dishrags?" Amelia demanded, brandishing the bag at her. "I've bought a plain black dress that should fit you, it's simple and sophisticated, but still sexy and we can dress it up with colours. _So_ I've also bought four different pairs of shoes – thank god we have the same size feet – for you to choose from and accessorise to match each colour."

She emptied the bag on the bed, revealing the dress, a huge tangle of multicoloured jewellery and the promised shoes – there was an electric blue pair, some strappy gold sandals, hot pink wedges and some gorgeous emerald green stilettos.

"You are an absolute Goddess, you know that?"

"I know, I know," Amelia said dramatically, waving away the praise. "All donations should be made to Amelia's temple of fashion." She abruptly sobered and looked serious. "Now, to business – which shoes do you want to wear?"

As Draco kicked off hard from the ground, the evening's hot and muggy air was replaced by a delicious breeze as his broom rose higher. The changes in temperature probably meant there was another storm coming soon. Angling the broom, he headed towards the village in the distance.

Within minutes he was landing in Grangers front garden. As usual, he hid the broom in the bushes and headed up the garden path to knock on the door.

"Come in!" a familiar voice from inside called.

He let himself in and glanced around her hallway. "Granger?"

"I'll be down in a minute," she said from upstairs.

"Where are your parents?" he called up. He had been expecting to have to make meaningless small-talk with her muggle family, though he was glad that wasn't the case.

"They're out tonight," she replied. "Gone to visit my great aunt."

"Right …" he said aimlessly. He hovered uncomfortably in the hall, occasionally looking up the stairs while he waited for her. "Granger, what on earth are you doing up there?"

"Alright, alright, I'm coming!" He heard the clacking of high heels above him.

"About bloody time - _Merlin_ …" he breathed, when he saw her at the top of the stairs.

His eyes slowly drunk her in, starting from her feet. She was wearing high-heeled green shoes that made her tanned legs look even longer. Her black dress was knee length and clung to her body in all the right places while still looking classy, subtlety hinting at all her curves. Her lips were tinted a tantalising red, the exact colour they looked just after she had been kissed, and her deep brown eyes looked mysterious, the smoky line of kohl enhancing their beauty.

All thought seemed to have fled, except the thought that he wanted this girl.

She was looking at him with unmistakable amusement, and he realised his mouth was hanging open. "Well don't just stand there gawking, you could say something."

He opened his mouth and said the first thing that came into his head.

"What's wrong with your hair?"

Instead of the wild, untameable curls that he loved and longed to plunge his fingers into, her hair was sleek and straight as it fell past her face and down her back – in his opinion the change was the only thing that marred the vision of perfection in front of him.

She reached up to protectively touch her hair and then rolled her eyes at him, her expression a mixture of irritation and amusement. "You are _such_ a boy."

"I didn't mean it looks _bad_," he said as she hustled him out the door. "It's just -"

"Yes?" she interrupted, looking up expectantly from locking the door.

He shrugged, looking for the right word. "Different."

"Yes, that's the idea," she said dryly, walking down the path.

He sighed, worried he was digging himself into a hole, and decided to change the subject. "Are we walking there?"

"No, we're going to Josh's – Amelia's boyfriend – he's driving tonight."

They were silent for a bit as Granger led him into a large close of houses. She still looked annoyed, so he decided to try and explain once more.

"What I _meant_ was I prefer it how it normally is," he said, staring straight ahead.

"You do?" he asked, glancing at him. He nodded stiffly. "But you always call me bushy haired Mudblood," she said, sounding a little confused.

"I happen to like your curly hair," he said.

"Really?"

He nodded again and risked a glance at her. She had a small, satisfied smile on her face.

* * *

"What did he say?" Amelia asked while the group gathered in Josh's driveway. She had dragged Hermione to one side to pump her for details on Malfoy's reaction.

"He said 'What's wrong with your hair?'" she told her, still amused. When he had noticed her standing on the stairs she had been able to _watch_ his eyes slowly darken to a deep black as his gaze moved up her body. When he saw her hair he had frowned adorably, making it difficult for her to stay mad at him.

"No way! Amelia said, crestfallen. "That took me a whole hour to straighten for you!"

"What he meant was he likes it how it normally is," she hastened to tell her.

Her expression cleared slightly. "That's … sort of sweet, I guess. Did he say anything else? About the dress?"

"No," Hermione sighed, a bit put out.

"He's probably thinking it though," she said consolingly. "He's hardly taken his eyes off you."

She turned to look at Malfoy, who was leaning against the car door. He caught her eye and smirked.

Excusing herself from Amelia, she went over to him, her eyes narrowed. "You were listening again, weren't you?"

"Can't help it, Granger," he said nonchalantly. "I can't turn off my hearing."

She gave a frustrated sigh and leant against the car next to him, for once not in the mood to tell him off.

He eventually broke the silence. "So, you were fishing for a compliment, were you?"

She shrugged. "It would have been nice."

He turned his head to whisper in her ear, his warm breath tickling her skin. "I happen to think you look gorgeous every single day – though I have to admit that dress is one of the sexier things I have seen you in," he husked, making her shiver. "And the reason I didn't say anything at the time was because the moment I saw you all the blood rushed away from my brain."

"What?" she asked, confused. Malfoy raised his eyebrows at her and she flushed scarlet as she suddenly understood his meaning. "_Oh_."

"Oh, indeed," he said, smirking.

Fortunately, she was saved from continuing the conversation as the final person arrived and everyone started clambering towards the car. They had to fit six people in a five seat car, so Hermione ended up squashed in the back between Emma and Malfoy, who was looking around the car a little apprehensively.

"Have you ever been in a car before?" she asked while Josh slid behind the wheel.

"Rarely," he whispered back, fidgeting in the small space. Eventually he gave up trying to get his arms into a comfortable position and simply draped one over her shoulders, his fingers playing with her hair. "Though they were the Ministry cars, so they were much roomier than this."

"This is probably going to be pretty different," she warned. The car jumped and spluttered to life as Josh turned the key in the ignition.

"Alright then, people," Josh said, backing out of the driveway. "Let's go."

* * *

The car journey to the nightclub was only tolerable because of Grangers presence next to him. She was right, the tiny tin-pot car was nothing like the comfortable Ministry ones Father had sometimes borrowed, with their luxuriatingly large interiors that you could actually stretch your legs into.

Draco was beginning to feel slightly ill after a few cramped minutes. It was too hot in the car and the road was full of potholes that kept jolting them. The air tasted stale and humid in his mouth as be breathed.

Granger had been pretty quiet, sitting with her head resting on his shoulder while the muggles had been chatting loudly and singing along to the radio. She obviously noticed his peaked expression. "Are you alright?"

He shrugged, not wanting to let on that he was uncomfortable.

She lent around him with difficulty and turned an odd looking handle in a circle, winding down the window. The breeze blowing through the window instantly cleared his head. He closed his eyes and whiled away the journey by pretending he was on his broomstick.

After twenty or so minutes the car pulled into a nearly full parking lot in one of the larger towns. He got eagerly out of the car, stretching out his arms and legs. A light drizzle was beginning to fall, but he welcomed the clearer air.

As they followed the others towards the over-sixteen's nightclub Granger slipped her small hand into his. She glanced at him and her eyes were ambivalent, gauging his reaction. He lifted their entwined fingers and lightly brushed his lips over the back of her hand. She smiled, and they walked on.

It was a fifteen minute wait to actually get into the nightclub, standing outside in a long queue. Draco started to get irritated after only five minutes – he wasn't used to waiting or queuing for anything. Especially not in the rain.

"Can't we make this damn line go faster?" he muttered to Granger.

"Nope, sorry."

"What if we bribed the guy at the door?" he suggested.

"He probably wouldn't let you in at all if you tried," she said, looking at him amusedly.

He sighed irritatedly, resigning himself to waiting it out. A few guys ahead of them in the line were talking in whispers, their eyes on Granger. He stiffened and glared at them, but they didn't seem to get the hint. Stepping closer to her, he wrapped a possessive arm around her shoulders and gave the boys a look that clearly said 'She's mine'.

"What's wrong?" she asked him, following his eyes.

"Nothing," he growled.

"You react like that to nothing?"

He clenched his jaw. "Those guys over there were staring at you."

Granger smiled, "In case you hadn't noticed, half the girls in this line are also staring at _you_."

"Does that bother you?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"A little," she shrugged, her cheeks flushing slightly.

Draco smothered a satisfied smile. If she was getting jealous of other women looking at him it meant she was beginning to cleave to him, as a Mate was supposed to.

Any satisfaction he felt though quickly evaporated as they actually got inside the club. The bouncer at the door positively leered at all the girls, making him want to curse the obnoxious man into oblivion for so much as _looking_ at his Mate.

The muggles on the dance floor didn't look like they were dancing, rather moving as close to each other as they could, some couples even gyrating together. There was a rainbow hue of clothes, though black was the predominate colour. Girls skin was coated in glitter that reflected under the multicoloured lights, while ice white smoke twisted itself around their feet.

They made their way towards the bar, where there were stools and a few tables. A man in a shiny metallic corset grasped Grangers arm, pulling her up against him. "Wanna dance, Sugar?" he slurred, and even Draco could smell the alcohol on his breath.

He grabbed the man's wrist, hard enough to leave bruises and prised it from her arm. "No, she doesn't," he said in a dangerous voice, letting the man see the threatening black of his eyes.

"Thanks," she muttered, rubbing her wrist.

When a blond girl in a cleavage bearing halter top and miniskirt brushed purposefully against him, turning as she walked to give him a 'Come dance with me' look, it was Grangers turn to be annoyed.

He gave the girl an obviously dismissive look and wrapped his arm around Granger's waist.

Draco was irritated to learn that he couldn't order a fire whisky – or any type of alcohol at all – since it was a muggle club and he didn't have any identification. It was a shame, since he thought the burning liquor would help calm his nerves, which had been humming electrically the moment the boys had laid eyes on his Mate.

Granger ordered them two of the Coke things he had before – the rest of the group had dispersed, most likely onto the dance floor. When the leering bartender proclaimed them to be 'On the house', his eyes fixated on her chest, Draco slammed down his glass.

"I've had enough of this," he muttered mutinously.

"What?"

"All these people, they're _staring_ at you," he growled back.

"No one is staring at me," she said, placating.

"Some are," he insisted stubbornly.

She smiled almost mischievously and took his hand, drawing him towards the dance floor. "Let them stare," she said.

"Granger-"

She placed his hands on her hips and put her lips near his ear. "Just let them stare - and remember that you are the one dancing with me."

Draco's breath hissed as she bought their bodies closer together and started moving her hips against him in time to the music. His skin tingled where they touched, his Veela blood burning through his veins, urging him to touch his Mate. His hands moved from her hips, travelling up her spine to press their torsos together. Her breasts were just brushing his chest and her eyes drifted closed, her expression exhilarated.

Their breathing became ragged as the music continued. The air in the club was stifling, and her skin glistened with a faint sheen of sweat. She tilted back her head, letting her hair cascade down her back.

She opened her eyes and splayed her hands on his chest. She trailed the very tips of her fingers down his torso, stopping at his bellybutton. His body shuddered with pure lust and she laughed seductively – she was playing with him, he realised.

"I think you're trying to kill me, Granger," he husked.

"And why would I do that?" she purred in his ear. "I happen to like you alive."

Deciding to tease her right back, he traced his hands lightly down her rip-cage, over her hip and then down the outside of her thighs, stopping to play with the hem of her dress.

She bit her lip alluringly and leaned towards him. Just as their lips were about to touch, she spun around so that her back was pressed to his front, still moving her body to the music.

Grasping her hips, he held her firmly to him as they moved together. "Is this revenge?" he growled, relishing the way she shivered as his breath blew across her neck. He loved that power he had to make her body respond to him.

"For what?"

"For six years of tormenting each other," he replied, his fingers circling her hips.

"If it is, then you deserve it," she said, her voice catching as she breathed rapidly.

"You don't seem to realise that you're enticing a Veela, Granger," he whispered, right into her ear. "That's like playing with fire."

She didn't reply, but spun back around so she was facing him. Smiling wickedly, she looped her arms around his neck, pressing their bodies even closer together.

He drew back and stared into her deep brown eyes, currently alight with mischief. As their gazes held longer he was able to watch her pupils dilate with desire. She wanted him too, he realised.

"End this game now, Granger," he said, warningly, knowing he was close to losing control. "Before I decide to take it further."

"And how exactly will you do that?" she asked breathlessly.

With a growl, he leant forward and caught her mouth with his. She gasped into his mouth, parting her lips. He bought his hands up to cup the sides of her face, holding her to him, while she fisted the material of his shirt in her hands. They kissed fiercely, both of them fighting for dominance. Their bodies were still pressed together and he could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his chest.

When they were jostled for no longer dancing, he broke away to snap at the man, who recoiled from his black eyes. He looked back at Granger; she was still clinging to him, her eyes unfocused and glassy with passion.

"Come on -" he said, still fighting for breath.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he propelled her away from the dance floor.

He didn't reply, focusing instead on finding somewhere private. A door marked 'Storage' caught his eye; it opened magically as he approached without him even reaching for his wand. For a split second wondered if the Ministry had detected it, but then dismissed the thought – they rarely punished unintentional magic. Towing Granger inside, he closed the door behind them, shutting out the noise of the music.

He turned round to face her; she was watching him cautiously, biting her lip. He took a step towards her, and then another, stalking her like a predator. She backed up, and hit the far wall.

He moved closer until their bodies were against each other, their noses just grazing. All the while he stared into her eyes, which were bright with anticipation. They were both breathing quickly, their breath merging in the scant space of air between them.

"Malfoy?" she whispered. He sensed it wasn't a question, but a plea instead.

Closing the distance between them, he kissed her, slanting his mouth over hers. She moaned at the first touch, her fingers winding into his hair. He kissed her ruthlessly, pinning her to the wall while his hands roamed unscrupulously over her body. She arched into his touch and, when he broke away to kiss down her neck, she said his name in a ragged voice.

He lightly trailed his lips down the sensitive skin of her throat, occasionally nibbling and tasting. With the tips of his fingers he brushed the thin straps of her dress down her shoulders. He paused when he reached her collar-bone.

"Last chance to stop this, Granger," he murmured against her skin.

"What are you going to do?" she breathed, her eyes closed and her head tilted back against the wall.

"I'm going to make you mine," he whispered.

She sighed, surrendering herself to him. Fisting a hand in her hair, he tilted her head to one side to bare her throat to him. His mouth hovered just where her neck met her shoulders. He lingered for a moment, breathing in the heady scent of her – and then he bit her.

She moaned as his teeth dug into her skin, almost, but not quite drawing blood. She was gasping, breathing far too quickly, and then she went limp in his arms.

Draco carefully lowered her to the dusty floor. Her eyes were closed, though there was a slight smile on her face. He traced his fingers over her flushed cheeks, and then down her throat to touch the Mark on her neck.

"By this Mark you are mine," he whispered, speaking his part of the Bonding Ritual. He leant forwards and very lightly brushed his lips over hers. "Just as I am yours," he added.

* * *

Hermione woke up to a light drizzle on her cheeks. The rain was deliciously cool against her flushed skin. She opened her eyes, and saw a set of denim clad knees in front of her. Confused, she sat up and looked around.

She had been lying on a bench outside the nightclub with her head in Malfoy's lap and his jacket draped over her to protect her from the rain. He turned and smiled at her, his hair bleached of colour from the artificial lights of the streetlamps. His eyes were no longer the lustful black that had mesmerised her on the dance floor, but piercing silver and looking at her with concern.

"Feel better?"

"I think so," she said, touching her head. "What happened?"

"You fainted," he told her, a hint of a smirk on his face.

"Fainted?" she repeated, raising her eyebrows at him. "That must have been quite some kiss."

The smirk became a full-on, self satisfied grin. "Of course it was," he drawled. "It was with me."

"You carried me out here?" she asked.

"Yeah, I -"

"Excuse me, Miss?" It was the bouncer from the door, looking down at her worriedly. "How are you feeling?"

"Umm, fine, I think," she said. It was true, though her neck ached slightly, but not in a painful way; it was more of a deep-set tingling in her skin.

"What do you remember from before you fainted?" he asked.

A rush of images assaulted her – Malfoy's black eyes staring down at her, him stalking towards her like some sort of animal in that darkened room, his hands ravishing her body, he had said … _something_, and then – nothing.

"I'm not really sure," she said honestly, before adding a little white lie. "I think it was just the noise and all the people that made me light headed."

He nodded, accepting her explanation. "And do you know this young man here?" he asked, gesturing to Malfoy.

She blinked confusedly at the bouncer. "Of course, I came with him."

"Alright," he said. "You feel better then Miss."

"What was all that about?" she asked Malfoy as the bouncer returned to the door.

"He got really huffy when I bought you out here and wouldn't stop hovering," he told her.

"You've got to admit, carrying an unconscious person from a nightclub does look a bit suspicious."

He shrugged, and then turned to look at her. "Did you want to go home?"

"I suppose so," she said, in no mood to go back inside the club. "Merlin, we are barely here for half an hour before we leave."

"How are we going to get back?" he asked.

"I'm sure Josh and the others will want to stay a while yet, so we can get the bus," she said, pointing down the road. "Come on, there's a bus stop over there."

Malfoy helped her to her feet and they started off down the road. The rain was coming down slightly heavier and had left crystal-like droplets in his platinum hair that caught the light as he moved

Her shoes were absolutely killing her as she walked; she never wore shoes this high, and had now made a vow never to do so again, no matter how fabulous they might look.

He noticed her limping, and glanced down at her feet before smirking. "Those shoes may be sexy, but they aren't exactly practical for walking in," he said, echoing her thoughts.

"You like them?" she said, noticing that he had called them sexy – suddenly, ridiculously, the pain seemed worth it.

"Yes," he admitted. "A little too much."

"Well, if you wanted to borrow them …" she teased.

He turned and frowned at her. "Don't be ridiculous."

"But you said you liked them," she said, feigning innocence.

He smirked at her. "Liked them as in a want to see you in nothing _but_ them, liked them as in I want to take them off with my teeth," he explained. "_That_ sort of liked them."

She felt her cheeks flush, but covered it with scorn. "Do you think about anything other than sex?"

"Sure," he said flippantly. "Money, Quidditch …"

"Gee, way to make a girl feel special," she muttered.

He gave her a wicked grin. "You fall into the sex category."

"How flattering," she murmured, her cheeks flushing even more. They reached the empty bus shelter and say down on the grubby bench, relieved to be out of the spitting rain.

"It is," he said, throwing an arm around her shoulders again. "That's the one I think about most."

"You certainly know how to sweet-talk, don't you Malfoy?"

He frowned. "Was that sarcasm?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She sighed, "Because most girls don't want to hear that they're … desired, or … you know, _thought about_ that way," she told him.

"What do they want to hear?"

She smiled slightly. "Romantic stuff I suppose. That they are beautiful and loved … that sort of thing."

"But what is love except the irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired?"

She looked at him in shock, "You just quoted Robert Frost."

"So I did," he said lightly. "I wasn't sure if you would recognise it."

"You forget that you're talking to a self proclaimed bookworm," she said dryly.

When the tiny shuttle bus finally arrived, she caught Malfoy looking at it with incredulous horror. He was silent as she purchased their tickets back to her village, but as they made their way down the bus aisle he caught her arm.

"What on earth is this?" he asked, looking around the practically empty bus.

"A bus, of course," she said, smiling as he stared at the faded, but still matching seats that were attached to the floor of the bus. "Were you expecting something like the Knight bus?"

"Yeah, actually," he said, sitting down cautiously.

"Muggle bus," she said as an explanation. "These don't bang and jump hundreds of miles at a time."

"Good," he said fervently. "I hate that thing."

"Why?"

As the bus rolled through the darkened countryside he whispered her a story of when he was eight years old, and had accidently spilt a chocolate milkshake on his father when the bus had jumped from one place to another. "By the time he was done with me after that, I never wanted to go on the damn thing again."

She felt a wave of pity for him, but tried to keep it from her eyes, knowing he wouldn't like it. Nevertheless, she couldn't help asking, "Did he hurt you a lot?"

"I suppose," he shrugged and looked out of the black windows. By now the rain was coming down in earnest, lashing at the glass. "But he made me what I am – and I happen to quite like myself, so don't feel too sorry for me."

"How did you know I was feeling sorry for you?"

He turned to look at her and smiled, brushing his fingers over her cheek. "I read it in your face."

"I can't help feeling that way, I guess," she said. "Those early childhood experiences probably had a big impact on your life."

Malfoy chuckled. "I wonder what _our_ children would be like," he said musingly.

Hermione winced at the image of a miniature Draco terrorising her while she was trying to make breakfast, though she couldn't deny the warm feeling the picture gave her. "Arrogant, obnoxious, incorrigible – and boarder-line feral."

"And what if the child took after _me_?"

She laughed and he grinned at her reaction. They lapsed into companionable silence, and she took the opportunity to text her friends so that they wouldn't worry when they couldn't find her in the club.

"This is us," she said, as the bus slowed down at her village bus stop. They thanked the driver and leapt out into the rain.

Malfoy looked incredulously at the break-lights of the bus retreating into the distance. "But its tipping it down! Can't he drop us at your house?"

"That's not really how buses work," she said, shoving her phone into her bag so it wouldn't get wet. "Come on."

She took his hand and they half ran through the village together, getting utterly drenched. They were both soaked to the skin and shivering when Hermione pulled him to a stop next to a bench.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his dishevelled hair dripping into his stormy eyes.

"These shoes are killing me," she said, sitting down on the bench to take them off.

"You can't walk barefoot in the rain," he said, frowning down at her.

"Yes I can, I'll be fine." She looked at his resigned expression. "What?"

"I'll carry you," he said.

"Um, what?"

"You heard me," he said, "Come on, on my back."

"But then we won't be able to run," she pointed out.

"We're wet anyway," he countered.

Giving in, Hermione clambered up onto the wet bench so she was higher. Malfoy turned around, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, holding on to his strong shoulders. His hands encircled her ankles to hold her to him, and he started walking.

They made their way slowly through the rest of the village, neither of them saying much. When they reached her house, he set her gently down on the garden path. He turned to face her and gave her a self satisfied smile.

"What are you smirking at?" she asked him.

"Your hair, its back to normal," he said, plucking a dripping lock between his fingers. Her sopping hair was no doubt hanging in wet curls now, and her mascara was probably running down her face in rivulets.

Malfoy didn't seem to care, however. He leant forwards and kissed her gently. She could taste the rainwater on his lips and her neck tingled slightly again.

He drew back softly and rested his forehead against hers. "I should go," he said regretfully.

"You can't fly back in this," she said, gesturing to the rain around them.

"I've played Quidditch in worse conditions," he shrugged.

"Not in the middle of the night."

He gave her a funny smile, as if he couldn't quite understand what she was getting at. "I'll be fine, Granger."

"You could just -" She swallowed and looked away. "-stay here?"

He was silent for a moment. "You're parents?"

"Like I said, they are visiting my great aunt. They won't be here till late morning tomorrow."

"Granger …" he said uncertainly.

"I'm not inviting you to sleep with me," she hastened to add. "I'm just … well we have a spare room if you did want to stay, then we can both go to yours to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow."

He nodded slowly. "If you're sure …"

"I'm sure."

He followed her up the garden path and waited as she unlocked the door. They both climbed the stairs in silence, neither of them noticing the drips they were leaving on the carpet. Hermione went to the airing-cupboard and pulled out a few towels.

"There's a radiator in the room that you can hang your clothes on," she said, handing him a towel without looking at him.

"Thanks," he said.

There was an unmistakable awkwardness between them as they both hovered on the landing. Eventually Malfoy gestured to the spare room. "Well I guess I'll just … goodnight."

"Goodnight," she said a little too quickly.

They both stared at each other, the tension palpable between them. Hermione bit her lip, and then said, "If I catch you trying to sneak in my room I will personally castrate you, just so you know."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Promises promises …"

She laughed and the tension broke. "Goodnight Malfoy," she said, backing into her room and closing the door.

"Goodnight," she heard him call, and then the sound of another door closing.

Hermione grabbed the makeup remover Amelia had lent her and looked in the mirror – her eye makeup was badly smudged and the rest seemed to have been washed off by the rain.

But it was the mark on her neck that really caught her eye. It was a dark, shadowy bruise in the shape of teeth. She gaped at it, wondering what on earth Malfoy had _done_ to her get a bruise like that. She didn't even remember him biting her, everything after they had started dancing was just a blur.

Strangely, it didn't even hurt when she pressed down on it. Instead it sent delicious shivers all through her body and caused her lower stomach to tighten. Suddenly, she was hyper aware of Malfoy being only two doors down from her room and had to fight the urge to go to him.

She quickly removed her makeup and changed into her pyjamas, wanting to get in bed and get to sleep as fast as possible.

"Granger?" a light knock at her door startled her. "Are you asleep?"

Here we go, she thought, night-call of the amorous Slytherin.

"What?" she hissed back, hoping his Veela hearing wouldn't be able to detect her racing heart.

"What's a radiator?"

She stifled a giggle and swung her legs out of bed. When she opened her door Malfoy was standing there, wrapped only in a towel with his dripping clothes in his arms. "Didn't I say you weren't allowed in here?"

"Technically I didn't come in your room," he pointed out, smiling disarmingly. "Cute pyjamas."

She looked down at herself; she was wearing a green t-shirt that said 'Defying Gravity' that she had bought when her parents had taken her to see 'Wicked', and some pink sleep shorts.

"Thanks, now come on – I'll show you how a radiator works."


	9. Lord of the Manor

"Granger?"

Draco lightly knocked on her bedroom door, but received no answer. He had been up for nearly two hours, lounging around on her sofa downstairs and looking through her books while a house-elf from the Manor bought him coffee. But, considering that she wanted to be at Diagon Alley by ten and how long girls took to get ready, he thought he should wake her.

"Granger?" he said, knocking slightly louder and gently pushing her door open.

He padded over to her barefoot; he had dressed in last nights clothes, not having anything else with him, but hadn't put shoes on.

She looked so serene, fast asleep in her bed, her covers curled around her so that only her closed eyes peeked from between under the duvet. Her hair, now wild and bushy again instead of the sleek straightness of the previous night, was tied loosely back into a plait that had come partially undone in the night, curls escaping around her face.

He reached out and lightly trailed a finger down her cheek. She stirred under his touch.

"I'm sleeping," she muttered without opening her eyes, barely audible.

"You need to get up," he replied softly, sitting down on the covers next to her.

"What time is it?" she murmured.

"Just gone eight thirty," he said, playing with a lock of her hair splayed over her pillow.

She sighed sleepily, a contented smile on her face. "I don't need to get up yet."

"Granger … Granger? If you don't get out of bed I'm going to come and join you there," he threatened.

She didn't reply. He ran a hand through his hair, wondering how to wake her up since it looked like she had fallen straight back to sleep.

He lent back against her headboard – and then got the surprise of his life when she rolled over and curled herself into his side, their bodies separated only by the duvet.

He kept very still, not quite sure what he should do. Eventually, he lifted his feet from the floor so that his legs were on the mattress in front of him, while his hand absentmindedly stroked over Granger's hair. After a few minutes peaceful silence, he picked up the book on her bedside table.

A sudden ringing noise made him jump about twenty minutes later, coming from the miniature clock on her bedside table. It was obviously a muggle alarm of some sort, though as a Wizard he was accustomed to using his wand to wake himself up.

Granger reached around him to flick the switch on the clock – and froze.

"What are you doing in here?" she demanded, pulling the covers up around her. "Didn't I tell you that you aren't allowed in my room?"

"Good morning to you too," he drawled, putting her book down. "I came in here to wake you up and you practically invited me into bed with you."

She pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked at him bemusedly. "I thought that was a dream."

"Do I often feature in your dreams then?" he smirked.

"You _wish_," she said, her eyes glittering.

He chuckled. "I _do_."

She laughed slightly and then looked around her room almost dreamily. "What are you thinking?" He asked curiously.

She turned to face him and smiled vaguely. "I just never thought I would wake up in the same bed as you."

He gave her a self satisfied smile and she narrowed her eyes at him. "What are you smirking at now?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

He examined his nails, feigning nonchalance. "Well, you didn't just _wake up_ beside me." He looked up and grinned at her shocked and confused expression. "You also _snuggled._"

* * *

Hermione and Malfoy arrived in the Leaky Cauldron with about ten minutes to spare, despite Malfoy's dark predictions that they would be late. Though to be fair on him, he had imagined her taking ages to get ready when in reality all she needed to do was have a quick body wash, shake her hair out of its plait and throw on some jeans.

The brief fly to the Manor had gone smoothly, then she had waited while Malfoy took a quick shower of his own and changed out of last nights clothes. He had given her permission to look around the Library while she waited, something she had been dying to do since her first visit to the Manor.

She had found several books on Veela in the little corner Malfoy had led her to before. She had been curious about Veela – it had almost driven her to madness not to be able to research them once he had told her she was his Mate.

Flicking through one of the books to a chapter on Veela Mates, she scanned the pages, aware that Malfoy would be coming to look for her soon. Unfortunately he had called her name from the Library door before she had read as much as she liked and they headed to a reception area where there were fireplaces to Floo from.

Having never done a side-along Floo journey before, Malfoy explained the process to her with a very pronounced smirk on his face since they essentially needed to be pressed together to avoid getting separated or hitting parts of their bodies within the Floo. The journey itself was fast, though memorable considering that she had Malfoy's arms around her, pressing her into his body and was spinning impossibly fast through the chimneys of the Wizarding world.

With the practiced ease of someone who had grown up using Floo-powder, Malfoy stepped easily from the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron, catching her before she hit the ground. They both straightened up and glanced around. The pub was lively and full of people, though no one seemed to notice the two apparent-enemies arriving together.

"I guess I'll meet you in here later then," she said.

Malfoy nodded and brushed his lips across her cheek in a gentle kiss. "See you, Granger."

"Oh, and Malfoy?" she called after him and he turned around. "If you do meet us, could you … you know, act normal?"

"Act normal as in talk to you normally as I have for the past few days, or act normal as in insult the Golden Trio at every opportunity?"

"The insults," she said, smiling.

"Good, the other one just isn't as fun," he drawled, winking to show that he was joking.

He left and Hermione was waiting in the bar for only ten minutes when the fireplace erupted into emerald flames. Ron's spinning figure appeared, quickly followed by Ginny and then  
Harry and the rest of the Weasley clan. She was smothered in hugs and questions as they all leapt to greet her.

Harry's eyes were twinkling and she could tell he was dying to ask about Malfoy - since Ron hadn't attacked her with questions she could assume he hadn't mentioned it to him.

After a quick catch-up, Fred and George dispersed to shop and no doubt make general mischief, while Ginny went off to meet some friends. Mr and Mrs Weasley needed to pick up a few things, so the three of them were left to explore Diagon Alley.

Harry managed to contain his curiosity all through the hurtling ride through Gringotts, but the moment they stepped back out into the bright sunshine he asked, "So what's with you and Malfoy?"

"Harry," she sighed exasperatedly, even though she had known this conversation had been coming.

"What?" Ron asked, looking from one to the other.

"Hermione met up with Malfoy the other day," Harry told Ron, grinning.

"_What_?"

"We didn't meet up," she explained. "We just … met."

"Malfoy?" Ron said incredulously, still trying to understand what had happened.

"He was round her house," Harry said slyly, watching Ron's reaction with amusement.

"Harry, stop messing with him," she said sternly. "Ron, if you go any more purple you will explode – now, will you let me explain or are you going to jump to conclusions?"

She glared at them both, daring them to speak. Harry shrugged and Ron blinked spastically at her, waiting for her explanation. "Now then, Malfoy and I happen to live near each other and he lent me some books for the History of Magic project."

"But he was round your _house_?" Ron demanded. "Even I haven't been round your house," he added in a slightly petulant tone.

"He was there when I phoned," Harry put in, then he started laughing. "I was talking to Hermione and I suddenly heard him start shouting 'Ow!' and swearing – what was that about anyway?"

"He put his hand on the stove," Hermione said, not without amusement.

"What an idiot," Ron snorted.

"That's not as fun as I imagined it," Harry said. "I was hoping you had stabbed him."

"Harry!" she chided.

"What?" he said defensively. "A man can dream."

"Ugh, speak of the devil," Ron said, nodding over towards Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Hermione turned and saw Malfoy coming out of the shop. He saw them and sauntered over, his grey eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Well well, if it isn't Pot-head, Weasel and the little Gryffindor Princess," he drawled. She suppressed a smile, 'Gryffindor Princess' seemed more like a term of endearment coming from him now.

"How's the hand?" Ron asked nastily.

Malfoy waggled his fingers at them. "Still perfectly able to hit you."

"Like you could," Ron said, his hand inching towards his pocket.

"Just get lost, Malfoy," Harry snapped. "We aren't bothering you."

"You think so?" he asked lightly. "Potter, you are the boy-who-lived-to-be-a-pain-in-my-ass, Weasley, you simply irritate me and Granger -" he turned to her and smirked. "-You just _love_ to torment me, don't you?"

She smiled back, thinking of how she had teased him on the dance floor of the nightclub the previous night. "I can't help it, your … _reactions_ are just so _interesting_."

Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, but Ron beat him to it. "Go get stuffed, Ferret boy." He grabbed Hermione's arm to steer her away, not noticing the way Malfoy's eyes focused on the movement. "Come on, let's go."

"Good, your idiotic double act was grating on my nerves," he said, still staring at Ron's hand on her arm. Hermione recognised a facet of the jealousy he had displayed in the nightclub in his expression and quickly pulled her arm free. "As for you, Granger -" he winked at her. "-Leaky Cauldron, six o'clock."

Hermione glared after him as he sauntered away, his trademark smirk plastered on his face.

"Did he _wink_ at you?" Harry said incredulously.

"What did he mean by 'Leaky Cauldron, six o'clock'?" Ron demanded.

She sighed, silently cursing Draco Malfoy simply for being who he was. "He's taking me home, side-along Floo," she explained.

"Why?"

"My house isn't connected to the Floo-network, and the Manor is," she said, examining a display of quills in a shop window.

"You've been to his house?" Harry asked, his horrified expression matched by Ron's. "Alone?"

"Yeah, why?" she said, knowing the fireworks were coming – damn Draco Malfoy for starting this conversation!

"Hermione are you crazy?" Ron said. "He could have done anything to you!"

"Well he didn't," she said firmly. "And when you get him on his own he is … almost tolerable."

She could see her two best friends readying themselves for what promised to be a good argument with her, but they were distracted by a voice calling them.

"Guys! Hey, guys! Ron, have you heard?" Ginny ran up to them, panting and holding a copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

"Heard what, Gin?" Ron asked.

"It's all over the Daily Prophet," she said breathlessly. "Apparently the Ministry has just released a statement-"

She broke off as Harry snatched the paper from her hands. Flipping it over, his face darkened as he read the front page.

"What is it?" Ron said, grabbing the paper from Harry.

Hermione looked over his shoulder as he read and felt her jaw drop when she read the glaringly bold headline.

_**Mass Breakout from Azkaban Prison.**_

The front page was filled with half a dozen photos of Death Eaters, including Dolhovo and the Lestranges. But it was Lucius Malfoy's cold grey eyes, so similar and at the same time so different to Draco's, that leapt out at her.

* * *

When Draco came into the Leaky Cauldron later that afternoon the atmosphere couldn't have been different to the cheerfulness of when they had arrived this morning. Granger was sitting in a corner with the Weasley's and Potter, all of them talking darkly with serious expressions.

Granger noticed him and leapt to her feet, her expression worried. "Have you heard?"

He crossed the room in three strides and placed his hands on her shoulders, worried that something had happened to her. "Heard what? What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Of course he's heard," Weasley said, standing up to glare at him. "I bet he knew the moment it happened."

"What's got your panties in a twist Weasel?" he asked, tilting his head to face him without moving his hands from her shoulders. "Potter turn you down for a good sha-"

"Malfoy," Granger interrupted, her face bleak.

She wordlessly handed him a copy of the Daily Prophet, which he shook out. The headline leapt out at him and he felt his heart sink.

"No …" he whispered, mostly to himself. His fathers eyes were staring up at him from the page, he was smirking in a way so similar to his own that Draco felt mildly ill.

He looked up and met Grangers fathomless brown eyes and saw the same fear he felt in them – what would his father do if he found out his Mate was not only muggleborn, but also closely connected to Potter?

"Mr Malfoy?" a cool, professional voice interrupted his despair.

Turning, he saw two ministry officials eyeing him curiously. "Yes?"

"We would like to ask you a few questions," one of the men said.

"Questions?" he repeated, his eyes narrowing.

"About the breakout."

"You think _I_ had something to do with this?" he said with an incredulousness he didn't really feel – he was the son of one of the escaped Death Eaters and a Slytherin to boot, of _course_ they thought he was involved.

The second ministry official pulled out a notebook, flicked to a page covered in writing and begun to read, "According to the Magical Law Enforcement Department you performed an unlocking charm at approximately 10:17 last night -"

"What?" Draco interrupted, not remembering doing magic last night – and then it hit him, he had unlocked the door to the storage room of that nightclub.

"I _told_ you he was involved," Weasley said triumphantly, and by now Potter and the rest of his family were listening in with avid curiosity.

"And when Ministry officials called at your place of residence we found Malfoy Manor deserted," the man finished, looking up at him expectantly for an explanation.

"So?" Draco asked, in no mood to make this easy for them.

"Where were you last night?" the other man asked bluntly, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"I fail to see how this is any of your business."

"Mr Malfoy -"

"This is ridiculous," Granger broke in, her voice angry. "There is no way Malfoy broke his father out of Azkaban."

"Why are you defending him, Hermione?" Weasley asked.

"Why are you trying to condemn him?" she retorted, her wild hair flying as she turned to glare at him.

"Because he's obviously guilty – the empty house, the unlocking charm _and_ he is refusing to give any sort of alibi," Potter said, talking as if he was trying to explain to a three year old why two plus two equals four when they were determined not to believe him.

"You didn't give me a chance to, Potter," Draco spat, not liking the way he was talking to his supposed best friend.

"I know he didn't do it," she said stubbornly.

"Just because he lends you a few books doesn't mean he isn't a Death Eater," Potter said firmly.

"I'm telling you, he didn't do it!"

Draco felt a sudden flash of irritation at the whole situation – yes, she was defending him but she wasn't admitting _why_, no doubt because she was frightened about how her friends would react. _Always face your fears,_ his father had told him.

"Just look at the evidence Hermione!" Potter said, standing up himself now. "Why are you still -"

"Because she's in love with me," Draco interrupted quietly. Granger turned to face him, her warm brown eyes full of something that looked like betrayal.

"She – what?" Weasley said, looking from one to the other. Behind him his family was still watching the whole scene, now muttering to each other, their eyes hard and fixed on him.

"That's ridiculous," Potter said faintly.

"Is it?" he asked lightly. "Funny, I don't here Granger denying it."

"I …" she looked at him as if she was seeing him for the first time, then her expression hardened. "What makes you think I'm in love with you?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, thinking of the way she had snuggled against him in her sleep that morning. "Call it an educated guess."

"Why are you doing this?" she breathed.

"Because I can. Because your moronic friends are irritating the hell out of me. Because you're lying to yourself."

"I'm not," she said, her eyes never leaving his.

"So you don't love me?" he asked, very aware that Potter, the entire Weasley family and two Ministry officials were watching this conversation.

Granger didn't reply, she simply stared at him with her liquid brown eyes.

"Hermione, just tell him that you don't," Potter said, the tension obviously getting to him.

"She can't do that Potter," Draco said quietly.

"Hermione?" Weasley asked, a quiet desperation in his voice.

She looked down, breaking eye contact. "No, I don't love you," she lied – and Draco _knew_ she had lied, she had looked down as she said it.

"This is getting us nowhere," one of the men from the Ministry said, obviously uncomfortable with being caught between this conversation. "If you do have an alibi Mr Malfoy then please tell us, if not then we will have to take you to the ministry for questioning."

Draco didn't reply, he was staring at Granger, unable to believe that she had _lied_.

"Mr Malfoy?"

"I spent the night with Hermione Granger," he said eventually, relishing their reactions.

Weasley reached for his wand. "You lying piece of -"

"I'm not lying," he said quietly, looking to Granger. She met his eyes again, and it was as if something had shattered behind them.

"Miss Granger, can you vouch for him?" one of the men asked.

She bit her lip, and then looked pleadingly to her best friends. "He slept in the guest bedroom," she said, her tone obviously beseeching them to understand.

"So it's true?" the man asked, making notes on his paper.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"Hermione …" Weasley said, looking at her blankly.

"But …" Potter was shaking his head confusedly. "How could you?

"It's not what you think -"

"Don't lie to them, Granger," Draco said, annoyed that she was lying _again_. "It's exactly what they think."

Potter pulled out his wand "Why you little -"

The Ministry official stepped between them, hands raised. He looked to Draco. "Mr Malfoy, the unlocking charm?"

"Unintentional magic I performed when _darling Hermione_ dragged me into an empty storage room for a little _Privacy_."

"Malfoy, stop it," she said, anger sparking in her eyes.

"No, I'm just telling them the truth. In fact I think I might just tell them the _whole_ truth."

"That's enough," she said, stepping closer to him defiantly so that they were almost nose to nose.

"I think we have everything that we need," one of the Ministry men said hastily, obviously keen to get away from the inevitable argument that was brewing.

"Or did you want to tell them?" Draco continued, ignoring the two men as they left. "Did you want to tell them just how _happy_ you were when you woke up beside me this morning -"

Grangers hand flew towards his face and he caught her wrist with his sharp Seeker reflexes. "Don't you _dare_ try and hit me Granger. Mates never hit each other."

"What do you mean by Mate?" Weasley asked sharply.

"Do you want to tell them," he asked lightly, never taking his eyes from hers. "Or should I?"

"Hermione, what is he talking about?" Potter said, looking from one to the other.

When she didn't answer him, Draco said, "You see, Potter, Hermione Granger -"

She pulled her wrist free and glared at him, fury clear in her expression. "I'd like to talk to you alone, if you don't mind."

"Fine," he retorted. "We can talk at the Manor."

He stalked over to the fireplace and threw a handful of Floo-powder into the grate. The flames roared a vivid emerald. "Let's go Granger."

Still glaring, she stepped towards him. Potter grabbed her hand. "Hermione -"

"You can't seriously -"

"Don't worry," she said, interrupting Weasley. "He won't hurt me."

"How do you know?"

She shook her arm free from their grip. "Just trust me, he won't."

Draco grabbed her hand and pulled her up against his body. He half dragged her towards the fire, and the second he felt the heat of the flames through his shoes he said clearly, "Malfoy Manor."

The last thing they heard as they flames sucked them away was Grangers moronic friends running towards the fire shouting her name.

* * *

Hermione wrenched herself free the minute Malfoy stepped from the fireplace and whirled to face him. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Would you rather I went to Azkaban?" he asked, meeting her gaze coolly.

"Of course not," she said scathingly.

"Then I fail to see the problem," he said, sounding like he was bored of the conversation. "If I hadn't given my alibi -"

"_Alibi_?" She repeated incredulously. "That had nothing to do with your alibi and everything to do with you tormenting Harry and Ron and getting back at me."

The smile Malfoy gave her was feral and didn't quite meet his cold eyes, which were starting to blacken in anger. "They would have found out about us eventually."

"_Us?_ At the moment I'm not even sure if there _is_ an us."

Malfoy's hand shot out and grabbed her arm in an iron grip. "Don't say that, I know you don't mean it."

"What makes you so sure?" she said, trying to pull her arm free.

Ignoring her struggles, he pushed her back against a wall. "Because you're _mine_," he hissed, his face only inches from hers.

"_Yours?_ Like I'm some sort of possession or something? No, I am certainly not _yours_."

He grabbed the collar of her t-shirt and pulled it down, exposing the bruise on her collarbone. "I think _that_ begs to differ."

"That?" she said scornfully, trying to hide just how unnerved she was by him right now. "It's just a love-bite, it doesn't mean that you _own_ -"

"Just a love-bite?" he interrupted, his voice going soft and deadly. "Does a love-bite do _this_ when you touch it?"

He brushed the tip of a finger lightly over the Mark, making her shiver against him.

"H-how are you doing that?" she asked, her voice unsteady.

"Do you like it, Granger?" he murmured into her ear.

"… No"

"I think you're lying." She could hear the smirk in his voice as his mouth travelled down her neck, not quite kissing her but tantalising her with that slight feeling of his lips hovering just over her skin.

"I'm not," she whispered, powerless in his arms.

"You are," he breathed, his mouth now scant inches away from the Mark, which had started to burn softly. "I think you love it."

"Stop it, Malfoy," she said with absolutely no conviction in her voice.

"Shall I prove it to you?" he whispered, his breath fanning over the bruise, causing her to shiver again.

"Malfoy, don't -"

Ignoring her, he sank his teeth into the Mark. She expected pain, but instead she cried out as heat exploded from the Mark, sending warm waves all through her body. She shuddered and moaned. Her legs gave out and she would have collapsed to the floor if Malfoy hadn't been holding her up.

"You see?" he said with satisfaction. "You're mine – always."

Hermione shuddered again as a chill went through her. _Mine_, he had said. "It's a Veela Mark isn't it?" she asked, dreading the answer.

Malfoy pulled away slightly to look in her eyes, his own completely black. He didn't reply.

"You Marked me without my permission!" she said, anger growing inside her again.

"You certainly weren't complaining at the time," he said, a hint of a smirk on his face.

"That's not the point!" she shrieked. "You didn't even tell me – you – you -"

"I don't see what -"

"Is it permanent? Is it binding?"

He didn't reply and her voice rose shrilly. "You said I could opt out! You said -"

"Granger, calm down!" he said, catching her hands as she beat his chest. "Yes, it's binding, but it only binds _me_ to _you_, not the other way around. You can still walk out that door -"

Darting out from behind his body, she ran towards the door. He caught up with her just as she opened it and pushed it shut with a single hand.

"Granger, Granger wait!" he said furiously.

"Let me go," she said struggling to keep her voice even as she tugged fruitlessly on the handle.

"Will you at least let me explain?" he said beseechingly. There was now panic in his eyes - he was obviously worried that she was actually leaving. "I did it because I love you."

The sad thing was that she believed him, she believed him and she loved him in return - but it wasn't going to stop her from walking out that door. "Let me go, Malfoy."

He looked at her in despair for a moment, and then pulled open the door for her. Without a glance back she rushed passed him and fled through the halls of the Manor.

* * *

Draco put his head in his hands as he listened to Grangers receding footsteps. How had everything gone wrong is the space of one day?

When he had woken up that morning he had been _happy_. He had sat next to Granger as she slept soundly. He had halfway completed the Bonding Ritual by Marking her and it was looking promising that she reciprocated his feelings.

But _now_ - now his Father was out of Azkaban, he had made his Mate hate him and he probably had Potter and Weasley after his blood.

The annoying thing was that he had _known_ he was hurting her, yet had kept going anyway. He had been so frustrated that she had lied, denying her feelings – but he guessed he had pushed her too far.

Lowering his hands, he tilted his head back against the door, looking bleakly around the reception room. He couldn't even hear her footsteps any more – instead he could hear … voices?

* * *

Hermione ran though the halls of the Manor, scarcely knowing where she was going, simply running in the direction her feet told her was _away_. She ran though the Ball room and then skidded to a halt as she realised a tall, blond figure was standing in the centre – for a second she thought it was Draco, but then the figure turned.

Lucius Malfoy blinked in shock when he saw her, obviously a man not used to being taken by surprise. He was wearing an impeccable dark suit that contrasted with his pale hair, though his face was still gaunt from his time in prison, his eyes deep and sunken giving him the look of a skeleton. Hermione gaped at him for a moment, unable to believe that one of the escaped Death Eaters was standing in front of her – then she reached for her wand.

Lucius was quicker; he disarmed her instantly, catching her wand and throwing it into a corner of the Ball room.

"Well well, Miss Granger," he said pleasantly, as if they were old friends who had met on the street.

Hermione turned to run, knowing she didn't stand a chance without her wand, but Lucius flicked his wand, making the doors behind her close with an ominous snap.

"It _is_ Miss Granger, isn't it?" he asked, she could hear him taking slow, casual steps towards her, so she span around to face him.

He was watching her with a mildly interested expression, the sort of look one might give a beetle that has been impaled on a pin for a display. She narrowed her eyes at him. "You know exactly who I am."

"Of course, you helped Mr Potter put me in Azkaban," he said smoothly, taking another step towards her. "Though I cannot help but wonder what you are doing in my home. When one returns from … ah, an _extended absence_, shall we say, one expects to find a layer of dust, though I was hardly expecting Mudblood filth."

Hermione didn't rise to his bait. Instead her eyes flickered around the room, taking in her other exits. There was a huge set of closed double doors on the other side of the room, though they were behind Lucius. There was also the doors that had lead out onto the patio area, and then the ones behind her that he had already locked.

"I can only assume that Draco invited you?" Lucius continued when it became apparent that she wasn't going to speak. He tilted his head in the same way that Draco sometimes did when he was considering something – though Draco had never had that cold, manipulative gleam in his grey eyes, so similar to his fathers.

"It is curious," Lucius said, taking another step towards her and letting his eyes run lazily over her body. "Draco talked of you often while he was home, but never with any sort of affection. Rather the opposite, in fact."

"Things change," a blessedly familiar drawling voice said from behind Lucius, and Hermione felt relief flood through her.

Draco was standing in the double doors, which were now both open. He cut an oddly impressive figure, standing framed in the doors, with the light of the Ball room shining off his platinum hair. His eyes were positively black with fury as he stared at his father.

"Draco, come now, is that any way to greet your father?" Lucius asked pleasantly.

He stalked across the dance floor, moving with the grace of a predator, and put himself between Hermione and his father. "What are you doing here?"

"Cannot a man return to his place of residence?"

"Your place of residence is supposed to be a cell in Azkaban," Draco said coldly, not at all sounding like a child speaking to a parent.

As you so astutely said yourself, things change," Lucius said, picking an invisible speck on lint from his suit.

Draco drew his wand. "I think you should leave."

"Leave?" Lucius said, sounding arrogantly affronted. "Leave my own house?"

"Yes, leave."

Lucius' eyes narrowed; he seemed to realise that the young man in front of him was no longer the little boy he could bully and intimidate. "I see what has happened," he said slowly, his sunken eyes fixed on Draco. "You have become independent; no doubt a result of playing Lord of the Manor in my absence and especially since you are approaching your coming of age -"

He broke off as Draco's eyes flickered to Hermione for a brief second.

"Your eyes …" Lucius said, obviously noticing the change for the first time. He rocked back on his heels and nodded to himself. "So you have the dominant gene. Your mother and I thought you might, since we have Veela blood on both sides."

Draco didn't say anything, he merely continued to cover his father with his wand.

"Have you found your Mate yet?" he asked interestedly, his eyes calculating.

This time Draco's eyes didn't so much as glance towards her, but Lucius seemed to sense the tension between them.

"Her?" he laughed scornfully. "You think to _mate_ with this sort of filth? To besmirch the name of Malfoy with her blood?"

"Be careful what you say, Father," Draco warned in a dangerous voice. His coal black eyes were burning, seeming bigger that usual in his face, and his already sharp features looked more defined than ever.

"She is a Mudblood," Lucius said softly.

"She is _my_ Mudblood," Draco replied, his body starting to shake slightly – it was like he was vibrating with the effort to contain some massive energy.

Lucius shook his head at his son. "'How are the mighty fallen'" he quoted to himself. "Will you really give away everything, every shred of respect the Malfoy name commands -"

Draco laughed hollowly. "Respect? What respect, Father? In case you hadn't noticed, you're a criminal."

"I will not be spoken to like that," he hissed, staring at his son.

"But it's true," Hermione said, speaking up in Draco's defence. "When people hear the name Lucius Malfoy they don't think 'kind and generous benefactor', they think '_Death Eater_.' They -"

"How _dare_ you talk back to me, filthy Mudblood," he snarled, raising his wand.

"You won't hurt her," Draco said, stepping forward and raising his own wand, his face dark with fury. Lucius instantly disarmed him and sent his wand into the corner he had thrown Hermione's too.

"No?" he asked tauntingly. "Do you think you can win against me?"

"I think to try. You won't hurt her," Draco repeated, his hold body now vibrating like a tuning fork that had been struck, though there wasn't a hint of fear on his face.

"She doesn't deserve magic, Draco," Lucius said softly. "She's a Mudblood, she scarcely deserves to live. She certainly doesn't deserve _you_ -"

A vicious snarl escaped Draco's throat and he leapt at his father – as he moved his whole face transformed, so quickly that Hermione would have missed it if she blinked. His face elongated into sharp, cruel beaked birds head, his startlingly black eyes huge in his distorted face. Long, scaly wings burst from his shoulder-blades, ripping through the material of his shirt.

Lucius' face went blank with shock, but he quickly raised his wand and sent a stunner towards Draco, but it seemed to have no effect.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Hermione sprinted to the corner and scooped up her wand. When she turned Lucius was busy deflecting handfuls of fire that Draco was throwing at him.

"Expelliarmus!" she shouted, pointing her wand. But Lucius heard her shout and deflected the spell.

She tried stunning him, but he deflected that as well – though the effort of fighting two opponents at once was clearly tiring him. He sent a curse at her in retaliation, she ducked and gasped as it flew over her head, ruffling her hair.

Draco obviously heard her gasp and looked towards her – Lucius saw the opening in his defences and sent Draco flying across the room. He landed with a crash on top of his beautiful grand piano, which collapsed around him into a heap of splintered wood and piano keys.

Without even thinking, Hermione rushed across the room to help him. He was struggling to his feet, though his eyes widened in horror at something behind her.

Spinning around, Hermione briefly saw a vivid red light and her chest exploded in pain. As she fell into darkness she heard a terrible snarl and saw Draco leaping towards Lucius once more.


	10. Slytherin Through and Through

_Lucius struggled weakly, his bony hand scrabbling desperately for his wand which had fallen just out of his reach._

"I could kill you right now," Draco snarled, his voice distorted through his transformed face.

"You would kill yourself after," his father sneered weakly, a bead of blood forming at the corner of his mouth and then trickling down his chin. "Your Mate's already dead."

He growled and dug his claws deeper into his fathers' chest - already dead? She was only Stunned … wasn't she? He paused to listen, and realised he couldn't hear her heartbeat.

He wrenched his claws free, ignoring the blood that splashed over his shirt and stumbled over to Granger. She was so still. He felt himself begin to change back as he collapsed down next to her, panic over taking the bloodlust he felt towards his father.

Her heart wasn't beating, but when he put his ear to her mouth he heard the faint whisper of breath. Thanking his lucky stars that he had taken a muggle first-aid course last year, he placed his hands over her chest and started pumping.

Behind him Lucius crawled towards his fallen wand. Just as he was about to reach it, Draco heard an unfamiliar voice cry, "Stupefy!"

He looked up. A Ministry official was standing in the Ballroom, looking staggered as he stared down at the stunned Death Eater in front of him. "Blimey …" he said to himself. "We were only hear to investigate a case of underage magic -"

"Help me!" Draco interrupted, still forcing Hermione's heart to beat.

Draco shuddered as he relived the past few minutes, his head in his hands as he waited outside Granger's hospital door.

The man from the Ministry had quickly summoned his colleagues and within moments they were taking Granger to St Mungo's and his father away into custody. The spell Lucius had used hadn't been a Stunner; it was a Dark spell that stopped the heart instantly, but still left the victim breathing for a minute or so, drawing out their death so that they panicked more.

The Healers had said that Draco had probably saved her life with his attempt at CPR. He had tried to follow them into the room with her, but they had told him to wait outside. Merlin knows what was happening to her in there.

He lifted his head from his hands and stared at the reflection in the window opposite him. His shirt was ripped where goddamn _wings_ had burst painfully from his back and there were bloodied streaks on his face in the shape of handprints. Looking down at his hands, he saw that they were both gloved in lurid red bloodstains, no doubt his fathers blood from where he had his hands – or rather, _claws_ - embedded in his chest to try and tear out his heart.

He had been waiting for half an hour when Potter and almost all the Weasley family came hurtling down the corridor, all of them red faced.

"We aren't allowed in," he said dully as Ron grabbed the door handle.

"Why not?" Potter demanded.

Draco shrugged, in no mood to talk to them.

"What happened here anyway?" Weasley asked, releasing the door handle to glare at him.

"My father attacked us, end of story."

"That's it? That's all you're going to tell us?"

He shrugged again, his eyes fixed on the door.

"How about you tell us why you're covered in blood?" Potter asked with false lightness, his eyes hard behind his round glasses.

"Because I clawed open my fathers' chest trying to defend Granger," he answered tonelessly.

They paused.

"Why?" Weasley asked eventually, sounding confused.

"Believe it or not Weasel, I have no desire to share my motives for every single action with you," Draco said, though his normal drawl wouldn't quite come.

"Just leave him alone, Ronald," a plump red haired woman who could only be his mother said soothingly. "The poor boy is obviously distressed."

Draco, Potter and Weasley all snorted at her words, but nevertheless the two boys backed off, sitting down in seats on the opposite side of the corridor. Since it looked like it was going to be a long wait, the rest of the Weasley's all wandered off to the café, except the youngest girl who sat down with the two boys.

While they waited he listened to their conversation. Potter was fiddling with one of those silver muggle things – a _cell phone_ had Granger called it? Apparently he wasn't having much luck.

"I've tried her home phone three times, but her parents aren't picking up," he said exasperatedly.

"Wonder where they are," Weasley said. "We'll have to get hold of them somehow."

"They're visiting a great-aunt," Draco said from across the corridor, still staring at the door handle.

"How did you know that?" Potter asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Granger told me," he shrugged.

The door to her hospital room finally opened and a young Healer stepped out. He saw them waiting and smiled. "She's stable and awake now."

The others all leapt to their feet and hurried through the door. Draco stood up to join them, but Weasley turned and slammed the door in his face. Calming his anger with a few deep breaths, he turned to the Healer.

"Everything go alright?" he asked.

The Healer nodded. "We got her heart back into a regular rhythm. It wasn't too hard since she was resuscitated within moments of the spell hitting her. We'll keep her in a few hours for observation, but everything looks good."

He thanked him and sat back down. He rested his head back in his hands and tuned out the hustle and bustle of the hospital around him, simply thinking. Now that he knew she was okay, he had to think of a way to make things right between them again.

Someone cleared their throat pointedly above him. Looking up, Draco got the shock of his life.

"Mother!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. She wasn't due back from her holiday in Greece for another two weeks. "What are you doing here?"

"Well of course I came back when I heard," she said. "I was happily sitting on a beach when a man from the Ministry came wandering over asking what I knew about my husbands breakout, of all things."

Narcissa looked around the hospital corridor with distaste, pulling off her elegant gloves with a single finger. Her blonde hair, darker than his, was twisted up into a neat knot at the back of her head and diamond earrings were sparking from her ears.

"Darling, you're a mess," she said, looking him up and down and frowning. Reaching out, she smoothed his hair down where he had run his fingers though it and then straightened the collar of his ripped shirt.

"Honestly, I'm gone for a few weeks and everything has gone _wrong_," she said fussily. "Lucius was supposed to _stay_ in jail and I was expecting to come home to find you happily bonded to your Mate so I could start planning the wedding, but instead -"

"You knew?" Draco said, bewildered into speaking. "That I had the dominant gene, I mean?"

"Don't interrupt me, darling."

"Sorry Mother," he said automatically.

She looked at him almost pityingly. "Yes, I knew. That's why I left."

"What?"

"You were getting lonely, that was obvious enough," she sighed. "Everyday in the first week of the holidays you would sit and talk to me all the time. I had to do _something_ to get you out of the house, after all it wasn't as if your Mate was simply going to wander into the Manor, and leaving you alone was the only way I could think of to do it."

Draco simply stared at her, unable to believe she had _known_. He thought of how depressed he had been when his mother left, how he had been craving conversation and company. He had taken to wandering around the villages and fields aimlessly – which had been how he had found Granger.

Narcissa scowled at his stunned expression. "For goodness sake, Draco you look like a half-wit," she snapped. "Now, close your mouth, stand up straight and tell me all about your Mate. Do I know her?"

He forced his mouth closed and then opened it again to blurt out, "It's Hermione Granger."

"Really?" his mother asked interestedly. She eyed one of the hospital chairs apprehensively before sitting down on its very edge to avoid getting any imaginary dirt on her new cloak. "The girl you would complain about in the holidays because she beat you by one or two marks?"

"Yes," he said, tensing for the fireworks.

"How adorable," his mother said thoughtfully.

Draco sank into the seat next to her, wondering if he had heard right. "Excuse me, adorable?"

"Yes, quite. To think that underneath all your insults and torments _this_ was lurking."

"You _do_ know who she is, Mother?" he asked, not quite sure she understood.

"Of course, highly intelligent and magically powerful. Promising talent, according to an article in Transfiguration Today - they did a feature on the youth of Hogwarts, don't you know. There was even a picture. She is quite a beauty, though not in the conventional sense. Thank god you cursed her and she got those teeth of hers sorted though," she added musingly.

"But she's a Mudblood."

His mother fixed him with a beady look. "Do you care?"

"Of course not!" Draco exclaimed. He was long past all that prejudice – at least where his Mate was concerned. However he didn't think his parents were, if Lucius' reaction was anything to go by.

"Then what makes you think I will?" she asked airily, smoothing her silk robe over her knees.

"Father said -"

"Exactly Draco, _You're father said!_" she interrupted. "When have I ever raised my wand or laid a hand on you in punishment? When have I ever encouraged you to join the Dark lord and told you that muggles and muggleborns were inferior?"

"You … haven't," he said wonderingly, never having realised that before.

Her eyes were very sad and serious as she gazed at him. "I want so much more for you than your father does, Draco."

"What do you mean?" he breathed.

"I know you have no wish to join the Death Eaters." She smiled at him. "I want to see you become a Healer, like you wanted to do since you were eight years old."

"How did you know?"

"I remember patching you up after you had … displeased Lucius. You started asking me questions about how I was healing you. After that it wasn't hard to see the signs. Your NEWT options, that muggle healing course you did for extra credit, the potions you would mix in the holidays."

"I didn't realise you were paying so much attention. I always thought you were _his_."

She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Never, darling."

"So you don't love him?"

Her face was grave and somehow remote as she explained, like she was telling someone else's story. "The union between your father and I was never one of love. Your grandfather, Abraxas, wanted a marriage of alliance to the Black family. I was the only unmarried daughter, so I was chosen. The Malfoy's would add my inheritance to their coffers and Lucius would get a beautiful and obedient wife."

"I didn't realise," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry Draco. If I hadn't married Lucius I would never have had you, and you are the best thing in my life," she said matter of factly. "I am, and have always been, first and foremost your mother."

She turned to him and smiled, a true and genuine motherly smile. "Now, tell me about Hermione."

Draco sighed, looking down at his hands.

"What's wrong?" Narcissa asked, slightly worried. "You do love her, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" he exclaimed. "But the problem is I have messed everything up and made her hate me."

"Come now, Draco. It can't be that bad," she said reassuringly. "Tell me everything, from the beginning."

He talked uninterrupted for about half an hour, telling his mother about what they had been like at school and then the tentative truce they had called when they had met in the summer. He told her how he had begun to suspect the truth, that she was _his_ and how he had slowly become addicted to her. He revealed everything; every thought and emotion right up to their argument where she had looked so betrayed and had ran from him and then their fight with Lucius.

"… So basically I have screwed everything up royally and it's my goddamn fault she is in the hospital," he finished helplessly.

"But she does love you?" she asked.

"I _think_ so," he said, remembering how she had looked down in the Leaky Cauldron when she told him she didn't love him, how convinced he was that she had lied.

"And does she know what will happen to you if she rejects you?"

He shook his head. "She did ask, but I lied."

His mother raised her eyebrows at him and he explained, "I didn't want to give her an ultimatum."

"It sounds like an ultimatum is exactly what she needs," Narcissa said softly.

"No, I'm not going to manipulate her into being with me."

"You might not have to …" she said, clearly coming up with some plan. "From what you have told me the girl is clearly a true Gryffindor and you, my son, are a Slytherin through and through."

"What are you saying?" Draco asked, frowning. "That we wouldn't work out anyway?"

She smiled at him. "No, I'm saying that there may be a way to turn this to our advantage."

* * *

The door to the hospital room burst open and Harry, Ron and Ginny all came coming tumbling in. Ron slammed the door shut behind him with unnecessary force and bounded over to join the others at the bed.

"Hi," she said weakly, smiling at them.

"Hermione what were you thinking?" Harry demanded, cutting straight to the chase. "Going off with Malfoy alone?"

"Well it's not like I expected his father to show up," she said crossly in her defence, a little annoyed that she hadn't even got a 'How are you?'

She hadn't been able to stop herself from looking over their shoulders when they had come in, hoping that Malfoy would have been with them. The last time she had seen him Lucius had thrown him across the room and he had landed on top of his piano, crushing it beneath him, so she couldn't help but wonder if he was alright – though she daren't ask her friends.

Once they had finished chiding her, she asked how they had known she was here, since as far as she knew it was still the same day she had left them in Diagon Alley.

"Dad," Ron said simply.

"Mr Weasley had to run into the Ministry after you left – something to so with a biting toaster," Harry said, elaborating. "Anyway, he met some of the Magical Law Enforcement squad setting out on a distress call to Malfoy Manor."

"Apparently they had detected your magic and someone was checking it out, just routine stuff," Ron said, taking up the narrative. "But then they found you and Lucius Malfoy both half dead, with Draco standing over you and they called the rest of the squad in."

"Lucius … half dead?" she asked, shocked.

"Yeah, apparently half his chest was torn open or something," Ginny said disgustedly.

"What could have caused that?"

"I donno," Ron said. "Though I bet it was old Draco, probably some Dark magic."

Hermione shuddered as she remembered Malfoy leaping towards his father while in his Veela form, bloodlust in his eyes and his claws outstretched.

Thankfully, they moved on to lighter subjects as Harry told her about trying to get hold of her parents. Ron invited her to stay at the Burrow for the rest of the holiday, but she wasn't sure if she would accept – though she told herself it wasn't the case, she knew that Malfoy was the main reason.

Harry was staying at the Burrow as well, as he did most summers. They all laughed as he told them about his few weeks at the Durselys and gave a blow-by-blow account of an argument that Dudley had with his parents about his diet in which the fridge had ended up broken – much to Dudley's distress.

Ron's stomach gurgled loudly as they started talking about food and he pressed his hands to it to stop the sound, smiling sheepishly.

"Hungry, Ron?" she asked lightly, fighting a smile.

"Starving, I might head up to the café on the fifth floor," he said apologetically. "The rest of the family's up there and they will want to know you're awake."

"I could really go for one of those blueberry scones," Ginny chimed in.

"To be honest I am pretty thirsty," Hermione said. "It's amazing how having your heart stopped can dehydrate you."

At that moment the door opened again and Malfoy stepped into the room, eying Harry and the Weasley's.

"Malfoy," Hermione breathed, her voice coming out as almost a gasp.

She hadn't seen him since the Manor. His white-blond hair was dishevelled and the back of his shirt was hanging in tatters. He was covered in blood and his face looked gaunter than usual, dark circles obvious under his eyes. Nevertheless, she felt a sharp relief flood through her as she realised he was okay.

"What are you doing in here?" Ron demanded rudely.

"I came to talk to Granger," he drawled, staring haughtily around the room. "In private," he added pointedly.

"Its fine, you said you wanted to go to the café anyway," she said when her friends showed no signs of leaving.

"You sure?" Harry asked, clearly not wanting to leave her alone with him again.

"I'm sure, could you maybe bring me down a tea?"

Ginny nodded and pulled a reluctant Ron to his feet. "Yeah, how is it that you like it again?"

"Milk, no sugar," Malfoy answered for her.

Everyone turned to face him and he raised a sardonic eyebrow as if to say 'Something wrong?'

"He's right," Hermione said quietly.

"If you wouldn't mind …" Malfoy said, staring pointedly at the door.

"Okay then, we'll be right back," Harry said reluctantly, leading the others past Malfoy. They all glared at him, especially Ron, but he simply stared back coolly.

The door closed behind them and Malfoy's silver eyes slid to hers. He took a few slow steps closer. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

"Okay," she replied. "How about you?"

"I'm fine." He sat down on the bed, but seemed to be keeping his distance from her.

"So, um, that bird thing …" she asked.

He smiled, but there wasn't much humour there. "Veela Granger, surely you remember the Quidditch World Cup?"

"Yes but … I don't know, I guess I just never really put the two together. Has it happened before."

"Transforming?" He was looking at the wall above her head, no longer meeting her eyes. "No, according to the book it only happens when you're mindless with rage."

She hesitated a moment, and then asked. "Your father?"

"Back in prison," he told her, though his voice was aloof. "I doubt the Dark Lord will be happy. He is barely out for one day and he is already recaptured. Still, they know he will probably be out again in no time, so the Ministry is considering the Dementors Kiss."

"And how do you feel about that?" she said, wondering why he was acting so distant towards her.

He shrugged. "I honestly don't care."

"Not at all?"

"I hate the man," he said his voice betraying the smallest amount of emotion. "When he attacked you I wanted … so much … to kill him. I had him completely at my mercy and then I realised I couldn't hear your heartbeat. That thought terrified me enough to change back."

She reached out cautiously and touched his bloodied hand, which was resting on his knee. "You saved my life."

He picked up her hand and placed it gently, but firmly on the covers of the bed. "I need to talk to you."

"What's wrong?" she asked, worried now.

"I'm giving up."

"What?"

Malfoy smiled, though it was an empty sort of smile. "I love you Hermione Granger, but I know you don't feel the same way. I told you I would fight to make you mine, but I'm not going to do that if it will make you unhappy." He shrugged, looking like he was bored of the conversation. "So, like I said, I'm giving up, no matter the consequences to myself."

She gaped at him as a hole ripped open in her chest. _Surely_ he wasn't actually going to just _give in?_

"Consequences? But you said nothing would happen to you!" she said shrilly, finding her voice eventually. "Were you lying?"

"Don't worry about me." He leaned forward and lightly brushed his lips over her cheek. "Love you Granger, always."

* * *

"Did she take the bait?" Narcissa asked, standing up as Draco left the hospital room.

"I think so." He winced and rubbed his chest – strange as it sounded, it was like his heart was _aching_. "Merlin that was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I only hope this works."

"It will," his mother said confidently.

"You will need to play your part convincingly," he reminded her.

She gave him a sly look. "Draco, for the past seventeen years I have apparently convinced you I am in love with Lucius. I'm sure I can manage." Her expression brightened and she smiled. "Besides, I must say I am looking forward to meeting her."


	11. The Balcony Scene

Hermione sat on the windowsill of Ginny's bedroom, gazing unseeingly out over the small paddock without even noticing the boys playing Quidditch. Instead she saw Malfoy's face clearly in her mind, looking bloodied and gaunt as he said the words that had ripped a hole through her.

_"I love you Hermione Granger, but I know you don't feel the same way. I told you I would fight to make you mine, but I'm not going to do that if it will make you unhappy,"_ he had said. _"So I'm giving up, no matter the consequences to myself."_

Consequences. The word was haunting her.

She sighed distractedly, desperate to know what, exactly, would happen to him. She hadn't seen or heard from him since he had left her hospital room nearly two weeks ago. At first she had gone home to her parents, hoping against hope that he would come to see her. When he hadn't, her parents had noticed her distress without knowing the cause. Anxious, they had encouraged her to take up Ron's offer so that she would be with her friends instead of fidgeting around the house in a state of nervousness.

Not that it had done much good. Now she was simply fidgeting at The Burrow, unable to escape the discussions the others had about the upcoming re-trial of Lucius Malfoy and twitching as the gaping hole in her chest twinged every time _his_ name cropped up in the conversation.

Even when the badge proclaiming her to be Head-girl had arrived, something she had been aspiring towards since her first year at Hogwarts, she had been far to distracted to muster the expected level of excitement.

"Hermione?" a voice behind her said.

She turned and saw Ginny standing in the doorway, two steaming cups of tea in her hands.

"Thanks Ginny," she said as Ginny picked her way around Hermione's camp bed to put both mugs on her bedside table. "I thought you were out with the others?"

She shook her head with a very serious expression, her flaming hair swaying. "I decided that girl talk would be more beneficial to you than beating my older brother one more time."

Hermione sighed again. "I don't need girl talk."

"I think you do," Ginny said.

She stared resolutely out of the window, determined to ignore her until –

"It's about Malfoy, isn't it?" she asked.

Hermione span around, almost falling off the windowsill. "What makes you think that?" she asked with unnecessary sharpness.

Ginny tilted her head, staring at her with a considering look in her eye. "Because you keep saying his name in your sleep," she said eventually with forceful bluntness.

She flushed crimson, unable to believe that Ginny had heard her talking in her sleep. Every night since Malfoy had left she had been plagued – or perhaps the correct word was _pleasured_ - by highly vivid dreams of the two of them together.

Ginny seemed to realise that Hermione wasn't going to say a word on the subject, so she stood up. "Just remember, I'm here to talk if you need me," she said, picking up a teacup and passing it to her. "Here's your tea, milk with no sugar, just like Malfoy said."

* * *

Draco paced his room frustratedly, absentmindedly rubbing his chest as he did so. He hated sounding so ridiculous, even in his thoughts, but it honestly felt like his heart was _burning_, the fire slowly eating away at his sanity.

He paused and stared moodily at his half-packed trunk. He had started packing in a moment of weakness, thinking that he would just go to the station to see her – but no, going to the station would ruin their plan.

She _had_ to believe he was being noble, when in reality he was being as selfish as he knew how to be. Going to the station would definitely be a bad idea; if he saw her he would want to speak to her, and if he spoke to her she would see right through him.

_But you wouldn't do any harm, you could just check if she's doing okay,_ the voice in his head whispered temptingly.

"No," he snarled, angry with himself for this weakness his obsession over her had created.

He kicked his trunk closed just as a knock sounded on the door. "What?" he growled towards the wood.

The door opened and his mother stood in the doorway. She surveyed his messy room with disapproving eyes; after scarcely leaving it for two and a half weeks while in a _very_ bad mood and not allowing the house-elves in to clean, it looked a complete and utter mess. Even finding out that he was Head-boy had done nothing to calm him. His balcony doors were now left perpetually open in the hope of blowing in some hint of her scent, but instead it just billowed his curtains and scattered loose pieces of work around the room.

After taking in every out of place item with her sharp eyes, Narcissa turned her gaze to her son who looked no less dishevelled than his room with his messy hair and his untucked and unbuttoned shirt.

She cleared her throat regally. "How are you feeling?"

Draco narrowed his pale grey eyes at her. "Fan-_fucking_-tastic."

"Language Draco," she said mildly, smoothing her hands over the material of her dress. "Now, as I am sure you are aware, the Hogwarts Express is leaving tomorrow."

"I know," he muttered, his gaze drifting over towards his trunk.

His mother followed his eyes and nodded slightly when she saw the half packed clothes spilling out and the unmistakable dent on one side where he had kicked it.

"Draco," she said gently. "She will be there, and perhaps it will help with the depression if you just -"

"Depression?" he asked. "It's started already?"

She smiled at him without humour. "You stare out of your window for hours at a time. You're not eating properly. You hardly sleep and when you do I've heard you call her name." She looked at him almost pityingly. "Yes, it has started."

"Wonderful," he drawled sarcastically, throwing himself down on his bed to stare up at the canopy.

She sighed and then reached into a pocket to pull out a note. "How is this?" she asked.

Draco took the paper and scanned through his mothers note to Dumbledore. "It'll do," he said, handing it back to her. "It's certainly enough to increase her suspicions and make her worried."

"If she reads it, that is," Narcissa pointed out.

He smiled grimly. "She will."

Narcissa came and sat cautiously on the edge of his bed, reaching out a hand to tentatively stroke his hair. "Maybe if you see her you could -"

"No," he interrupted, moving out of her reach. "No, I can't see her."

She nodded slowly and stood up. "As you wish."

Draco watched her back as she left the room and then flopped back on his bed once the door had closed behind her. He wouldn't go see Granger at the station, he wouldn't be able to handle it even though it was _more_ painful just to sit here without her.

No one could say he wasn't a glutton for punishment, he thought to himself as he got up off the bed and wandered out onto the balcony to stare into the night.

* * *

When September the first finally came, Hermione was packed and ready to go before everyone else was properly awake. While Harry and the Weasley's wandered the house with half eaten bits of toast and doing some last minute packing, she sat in the kitchen with Crookshanks curled on her lap, trying to squelch the growing excitement inside her – in just a few hours she would be able to see him.

When Ginny ambled into the kitchen and gave her a knowing look as she took in all her packed belongings, Hermione thanked her lucky stars that her two best friends were boys. Harry and Ron, while far less perceptive when it came to girl matters than Ginny, had still noticed that something was wrong over the past few days and had stated asking her if she was okay – much to her annoyance.

Eventually, when Hermione thought she was going to die of old age from the sheer amount of time it was taking them to get packed, the family was ready to go. They all piled into the Ministry cars that Mr Weasley had managed to borrow and trundled off towards the motorway. It was a hour and a half drive to Kings Cross, and she spent it in a state of nervous anticipation, twisting her jacket between her fingers until she realised what she was doing and tried to compose herself; it seemed ridiculous that she was getting this stressed out over a boy, of all things!

Nevertheless, she was the first one through the barrier at Platform nine-and-three-quarters, taking the barrier at a run to get onto the platform that much quicker. Once she was through she scarcely noticed the huge scarlet steam engine, looking instead for a glimpse of tell-tail platinum blond hair through the billowing steam of the engines funnel.

Harry and Ron quickly appeared behind her, followed by the rest of the Weasley's. Down the platform she could see her dorm-mates Lavender and Parvarti, and there was Neville and Luna, further down she could see several Hufflepuffs that she was on friendly terms with – yet she still couldn't see Malfoy.

"Come on, lets grab a compartment," Harry said, pushing his trolley towards the train.

"Sure," Ron said, "But Hermione and I will have to go to the prefects compartment for a little while – she needs to give them their instructions."

"Huh?" she said, distracted from her search by the sound of her name. "Oh, yeah," she said as they both stared at her. "I forgot."

"You _forgot_?" Harry asked incredulously. "But you're Head-girl."

"I _know_," she said irritably, not having found Malfoy. "It was just a momentary lapse. Come on, Ron," she added, gesturing towards the front of the train.

They said their goodbyes and started walking towards where the other prefects were gathered. "I wonder who the Head-boy's going to be," Ron said musingly as they walked.

"Well Ernie McMillan is still sporting a prefects badge, so it's not him," Hermione said, waving to Ernie as they passed him.

"Just as long as it's not Malfoy," Ron said.

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks at the idea of her and Malfoy being the two Heads. The idea filled her with a sort of dread and elation – she would be able to see him everyday, but at the same time he wouldn't make any advances. "_I'm giving up,_" he had said. How difficult would it be to work with him everyday and wonder exactly what could have been between them?

_You should go to him,_ a little voice in the back of her mind whispered, _Tell him you want to be with him._

She bit her lip, deciding whether to beat this inner voice into submission or to agree with it.

"Hermione?" Ron said, looking at her with a concerned air.

"I'm fine," she said, replying to his unasked question as they started walking again.

"Are you sure? You look a little dazed," Ron said worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"PMS," she lied briskly, knowing it was the one subject that always made boys shut up and not ask questions – and sure enough, Ron's face flamed red and they walked in silence the rest of the way to the prefect's compartment.

Ten minutes later, as the train pulled out of the station, the prefects were all gathered in a compartment near the front of the train, Hermione was still standing outside waiting to find out who would be Head-Boy. Professor McGonagall approached her in the corridor, holding a slip of paper in one hand.

"Miss Granger," she said, eyeing her from behind the lenses of her glasses. "I trust you had a good summer?"

"Yes, it was …" she paused, wondering what an honest word to describe her summer could be. "Eventful," she settled on.

Professor McGonagall sniffed. "As I'm sure you are aware, you have been selected as one of the school Heads, along with Mr Malfoy."

Hermione's heart did a peculiar sort of leaping within her – any moment now she would be able to see him …

"However," Professor McGonagall continued, "Mr Malfoy is unable to join us presently and so I have to leave you to instruct the prefects by yourself, which I am sure you will be able to do. Now you're duties -"

"Excuse me, Professor?" she interrupted as her heart flopped down somewhere towards the region of her stomach. "Why can't Malfoy join us?"

Professor McGonagall scowled down at her, and then handed her the piece of parchment she held in one hand. It was a short note, written in elegant emerald green handwriting.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,  
My son Draco will not be travelling to school on the Hogwarts Express this year due to his need for time off for personal reasons. I will contact you when he will be rejoining the school and my son apologises for neglecting his Head duties so early in the year.  
Kind regards, Narcissa Malfoy. _

Hermione read the note, trying to understand the meaning behind every word. "Personal reasons, what does that mean?" she asked the professor with trepidation.

She raised her eyebrows at her. "I do not know, Miss Granger. This note is the limit of my knowledge."

Hermione bit her lip and stared down at the note again; personal reasons – that could either be something to do with his fathers trial, not that he had been particularly bothered by that, or something to do with her and his Veela condition.

"Now, moving on from the subject of Mr Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said. "I must instruct you in your duties."

Hermione folded the note and slipped it into her pocket, trying her hardest to pay attention to the professor and stop her mind wondering in other directions – like how in a few hours she would be able to visit Hogwarts Library and find out the whole truth about Veela's.

Several hours later, when the students were all digging in to a sumptuous feast, Hermione was still fidgeting in her seat. It was far too late to visit the Library now and it probably wouldn't even be open – unless …

"Harry?" she said, leaning forward across the table.

"Mgh?" he said, looking at her curiously through a mouth full of food.

"Could I possibly borrow the Map and cloak tonight?"

Harry swallowed his food and stared at her. "You want to go wandering around the school on your first day back?"

She nodded, keeping her face beseeching.

"But you're Head-girl!"

"Come on Harry, you know I wouldn't ask unless it was something important," she said.

"But … what do you need for anyway?"

"I need to go to the library," she said.

Harry's face contorted with laughter, "Come on Hermione, can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "No, it can't."

An hour or so later Hermione was waiting in the Gryffindor common-room. Harry came back down the boys' staircase, the cloak and map under his arm. He passed them to her.

"Hermione, if you're caught you know what will happen, don't you?" he said, his expression very serious.

"I know," she said brusquely, tapping the map with her wand.

"Is this really worth loosing your Head-girl badge over?" he asked.

She looked up into his steady green eyes. "I have to know Harry."

"_What_ do you have to know?" he asked, a touch of urgency in his voice. "Hermione, you've been acting very odd ever since you were in the hospital! Are you sure everything's alright?"

She shook her head. "No, it's not alright," she said. "At least, it might not be … But that's what I have to find out."

"You do know you're not making any sense, right Hermione?"

Smiling affectionately, she hugged one of her best friends. "I know, and I'm sorry to keep you in the dark about all this." She let him go and stared up at him. "But I promise you will know soon, one way or the other."

* * *

Draco lay on his bed, his head tilted towards the open windows. Granger would have been at Hogwarts for just over a week now, making it almost four weeks since he had seen her, the pain was slowly and excruciatingly clawing its way up through his gut.

The only consolation was his dreams, yet they were also the one thing that made his pain worse. He hardly slept anymore, and when he did his dreams were far too vivid, far too _real_ to allow him any proper rest. The pure pleasure they gave him and the happiness of having her with him were cruelly ripped away every time he work up and replaced by the agony that now actually felt like a physical aliment instead of just a foolish metaphorical one.

"Draco?" his mothers' voice said softly, interrupting his self-pity party for one.

Reluctantly, he turned his head towards her. She was dressed in travelling clothes and was holding her silk gloves. "It's time," she said, looking at him pityingly.

He sighed and nodded, closing his eyes. He heard his mothers' soft footsteps across the room, then felt her cool lips on his forehead. "Soon," she whispered.

She pressed a small velvet box into his hand and left the room.

_Soon,_ he thought to himself, trying not to hope. He rolled over onto his front and opened the box, staring down at the engagement ring embedded in the lining. _One way or another, I'll know soon._

* * *

Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common-room beside the fire, the book on Veela's open on her lap. She practically had the whole thing memorised having read it so many times, but she kept on reading it anyway, desperate to find something she had missed.

The book had been quite clear on the fact that Veela didn't die of heartbreak if they lost their Mates, instead the Veela would fall into a state of often inconsolable depression. While it was all very clear on that, it didn't mention a Mate ever _rejecting_ a Veela – not that she _had_ rejected him … she just needed more time to think.

Yet despite her indecision there was a gnawing craving in her gut, urging her to go find him. She had been at school over a week and he still hadn't come back. Every morning she would scan the Slytherin table hopefully, looking for him, and every morning she had been disappointed.

In her lessons she had grown increasingly anxious and distracted until even her teachers had started asking if anything was the matter – it was no good, she had to do _something_.

"Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall's voice rang out across the common-room. Turning, Hermione saw her standing just inside the portrait hole next to a tall woman with blond hair who was instantly recognisable.

It was Narcissa Malfoy.

"You have a visitor," Professor McGonagall continued, the curiosity in her voice almost suppressed by her clipped tone.

Stunned, Hermione simply blinked at the woman from her seat.

Mrs Malfoy surveyed the common-room with an air of mild distaste and then turned to Professor McGonagall. "Perhaps I could talk to Miss Granger somewhere a little more private, Minerva?"

"Of course," the Professor replied, gesturing for Hermione to follow. "Come back to my office."

Hermione stood up as one in a dream and followed the two women out of the common-room, ignoring her friends' obvious stares. They headed down the corridor in silence, Hermione still to shocked to speak.

They entered the office and Mrs Malfoy looked around her. "Thank you Minerva, this will do nicely," she said regally, and closed the door in the Professors face, leaving her and Hermione alone in the room.

She turned to Hermione, eying her beadily. Her eyes were different to Malfoy's, she realised, vivid blue instead of stormy grey. She was dressed in travelling clothes that reeked of opulence, and was wearing silk gloves on her dainty hands.

"You can be at no loss, Miss Granger, to understand why I am here," she said, sitting elegantly down into the seat behind Professor McGonagall's desk, leaving Hermione to take the other seat in front.

"I can only assume it has something to do with Draco," she said cautiously.

Narcissa nodded gravely. "My son is dying."

Hermione felt her jaw drop. "Dying?"

"You are aware of his Veela nature?" Mrs Malfoy asked, tilting her head to one side in a way that reminded her of Malfoy.

"Yes, but …" she said, still trying to get her head around this conversation. "Veela don't die from loosing their mates! I researched it, I -"

Narcissa smiled and looked at her approvingly – it was almost as if she had planned for that reaction and was glad to see that Hermione had not disappointed. "You are quite right, of course," she said, sounding pleased. But then her face darkened and her eyes filled with a terrible sadness. "However, I believe that Draco is close to suicide."

Hermione gaped at her, unable to believe that some one as contained and self-loving as _Malfoy_ of all people would ever even consider suicide, and especially over someone like _her_. "That's ridiculous," she said, finding her voice. "He would never -"

Narcissa looked at her plaintively. "You are his Mate, Miss Granger. Not only has he lost you, but he has made you hate him."

"I don't hate him," she mumbled pathetically.

She arched an elegant eyebrow. "Do you love him then?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, wondering if the truth or a lie would go down better. Eventually she decided on neither. "Even if I did, you wouldn't want him to be with a muggleborn," she said, almost accusingly.

"On the contrary, I believe you would be an ideal Malfoy bride," Narcissa replied, nonchalantly pulling off her silk gloves by the tip of a finger – and Hermione couldn't help but notice the gorgeous diamond stone on her ring finger, and then wondered if Mrs Malfoy had intended for that reaction.

"Bride?"

She smiled indulgently. "Women of the Malfoy household must exhibit a sense of charm, poise, wit and beauty, all of which you hold in abundance despite your blood."

"But …" she said, still trying to get her head around the fact that they were talking about _marriage_. "You said _bride_."

Narcissa waved a hand in the air. "Forgive me, of course that point is redundant now." She fixed her with a very direct stare. "I'm not asking you to be with Draco."

"You're not?"

"No," she said sadly, looking like she very much _would_ like to ask her that. "But I do want you to go to him. I want you to convince him his live is worth living, even if you don't love him."

"I don't know …" Hermione said – if she saw him, would she be able to remain composed? This wasn't fair, she needed more time, she hadn't made this decision yet!

"Please Miss Granger," Mrs Malfoy said, her voice soft and pleading. "My son is the only thing in my life that I care about, I cannot loose him."

She was out of time.

* * *

Heaving himself off the bed, Draco headed out onto the balcony. It was a clear night with a crisp breeze that ruffled his hair, the beginnings of autumn starting to set in.

Yet he wasn't particularly interested in the weather at that moment. Instead his thoughts were on his mother, his mother and Granger. She would have arrived at Hogwarts by now, and would perhaps already be talking to her.

He leaned against the railings of the balcony as far out as he could, staring into the night, wondering whether or not his Mate would come.

* * *

Hermione brushed soot off her uniform as she stepped from the fireplace at Malfoy Manor. Narcissa had granted her access with a spell, so she didn't have to worry about the Wards. Mrs Malfoy had decided to stay at Hogwarts in order to explain the situation to the teachers and give her and Malfoy some time to talk.

The house around her was dark, with long shadows lounging in the corners. The portraits were silent now as she made her way through the hallways, watching he with their painted eyes. They knew what was going on, she could see that in their expressions, and were no doubt wondering what decision she was going to make.

Eventually she came to a doorway she knew well. Putting her ear to the wood, she could hear nothing inside. Cautiously, she pushed open the door and looked inside.

An almost surreal sight met her eyes. The draft from the open doors had put out all the candles and there were scattered bits of paper everywhere. Framed between the doors she saw Malfoy's figure. The wind caught in his hair, which looked silver in the moonlight. He was facing away from her, leaning far over the balcony – poised to jump.

"Malfoy!" she gasped, running forward.

Hearing her voice, he spun around, just as she threw herself into his arms.

"Granger," he breathed, burying his face in her hair as his hands held her tightly to him, like he never wanted to let go. His clean scent filled her nose, making her feel complete for the first time in weeks, though at the same time it sent tears coursing down her cheeks.

They remained like that for a long moment, clinging to each other desperately, until Malfoy pulled back a few inches to stare down into her eyes. "Merlin, you're here," he said, sounding like he didn't quite believe it.

Unable to speak, she gazed up at him. He looked tired – no, he looked beyond tired, he looked ravaged. The light in his stormy eyes was gone, with dark shadows underneath them and his face looked gaunt. _I did this to him,_ she thought, sending fresh tears down her cheeks.

His fingertips brushed along the wet trails of the tears. "What's wrong?"

"I thought you were going to jump," she said, her voice coming out slightly husky from the tears.

Malfoy looked at her a little bemusedly, his fingers still exploring her cheeks with whisper light touches. "Jump?"

"Off your balcony," she explained.

"Why would I do that?" he asked, then a small glimmer of light crept back into his eyes. "Let me guess, you thought I was distraught from your rejection and so decided to off myself?"

"I …" To be honest that was exactly what she had thought. "Well your mother …"

A hint of a smirk touched his lips at her trailing words. "Come off it Granger, did you really think the world could live without this fabulousness?" he said, gesturing down at himself – it was odd, but his expression seemed slightly less hollow than it had been when she had first seen him.

She drew back out of the circle of his arms to look at him properly – no, she wasn't imagining it, he looked back to normal.

"But … Merlin, you're fine," she said, staring at the change in him that had occurred in mere moments.

He shrugged, his eyes never leaving hers. "Fit as a fiddle," he said, growing mischief very obvious in his now bright eyes. "Nice to know that you care though."

"I don't," she said sharply, shocked by the sudden change in his whole baring, backing away further until she hit the balcony railing. "Care, I mean."

Malfoy took a single step closer, like a predator pacing its prey. "Yet you're here," he said, tilting his head to one side. "Isn't that odd?"

"Not really," she said, wrapping her hands around the railing behind her for support. "I just did what anyone would do."

He stepped forward again so that he was now right in front of her. "Ah, I see – being charitable?"

"Precisely," she said, tightening her grip on the railing and trying to remain composed.

Malfoy put his lips near her ear and she could feel every line of his body against hers. "So it's not that you're starting to like me?"

"No, nothing like that," she said stubbornly, doing her best to ignore the tingle of pleasure his hot breath had sent through her. "It's just that your mother said – wait, why would your mother tell me that you were going to kill yourself?" she suddenly asked sharply.

"Is that what she told you?" he said, sounding amused and placing his hands on top of hers on the railing. "How melodramatic of her."

"I … Merlin, it was all a trick!" she said, incensed as it started to make sense. "You manipulated me into coming here!"

"I did not," Malfoy said smugly. "You came of your own free will."

"Because I thought you were dying," she hissed, unable to believe she had been played – as if he would stoop that low!

"You knew I wasn't," he pointed out, keeping her hands anchored beneath his as she tried to pull away.

"What makes you so sure?"

He smiled cockily at her. "I know you Granger. I bet you went straight to Hogwarts library the second the feast ended to research Veela."

"But your mother said you were," she said, jutting her chin stubbornly.

"She's a mother, she overreacts," Malfoy said, shrugging.

"You told her to, didn't you?" she guessed, narrowing her eyes at him.

His lip curled. "What makes you think so?"

"You have that stupid smirk on your face," she spat. "This was all part of your plan, wasn't it?"

"What plan?" he had the audacity to ask innocently.

"Your plan to get me here," she practically snarled. "You never really gave up. You just wanted me to be worried enough to forgive you about the Mark thing."

"And have you?" he asked, tilting his head to one side.

"Not a chance," she said acidly, wrenching her hands free and ducking around him towards the balcony doors – which swung shut with a clang before she could reach them.

Spinning around, she glared at Malfoy who was leaning casually against the railing with his wand in one hand, watching her interestedly. "For Gods sake, Malfoy, open this door," Hermione demanded.

He shook his head firmly and pocketed his wand with a twirl of his fingers. "No, not until we've talked this out."

"Fine. Let's _talk_," she said, folding her arms in front of her. "Are you going to apologise for the Mark?"

He smirked at her. "First of all, no, I'm not. It's your own lust-driven minds fault you couldn't remember, not mine," he drawled. "And I have to point out that at the time you were snogging me senseless, so -"

"_I was not-_"

"You _were_," he said over her interruption. "And secondly, I didn't get you here just so we could shout at each other, I wanted -"

"So you admit it," she said triumphantly.

His alabaster brow furrowed. "Admit what?"

"That you tricked me," she said.

He sighed, as if the conversation wasn't going the way he had planned. "Yes, I knew you would come if you thought I was dying." He grinned at her. "You're very predictable, love."

"You lied to me," she said, putting every ounce of the betrayal she felt into her voice. "When you said you were giving up."

He nodded. "I did what I had to. I told you I would do whatever it takes to make you mine."

"'Those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends,'" she quoted sourly.

His smile was smug and feral. "Exactly."

"Well, as you so studiously pointed out, I'm here," she said brazenly. "So what do you want?"

He stalked slowly towards her, backing her up against the door. "You know what I want," he said, his voice low and his eyes full of wicked promises. "I want you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Not going to happen, Malfoy."

"You think so?"

Her reply was cut off as he leant down to kiss her, capturing her mouth with his own. She tensed at the first soft touch, scarcely a brush of lips, but soon melted into his arms as he deepened the kiss with languid slowness, as if he had all the time in the world just to kiss her.

The fiery feeling in her chest, which had been stone cold since the last time she had seen him, roared back to life with a vengeance, making her moan into his mouth and curl her hands around his neck, letting her fingers run though his hair.

His hands moved from her waist, travelling up her ribcage in a gentle, teasing touch through the material of her school blouse until he reached her tie.

He had just finished untying it when she remembered she was angry with him and wrenched her mouth away.

"Damn it, Draco!" she said as his mouth moved instead down her neck.

He chuckled against her skin, dropping her school tie to the floor of the balcony. "I think I'm in trouble."

"What?" she asked, distracted as his fingers slowly pulled her blouse free from her shirt.

"You called me Draco," he said by way of explanation.

"It's your name," she reminded him scathingly.

"You never call me that."

"Exactly!" she said, slapping his hands away, which were currently undoing the bottom button of her shirt. "How can we possibly be together if we can't even call each other by name?"

He smirked down at her. "Like I said before, it's a term of endearment. We only ever call each other by our first names when we are angry or upset. The rest of the time you are Granger and I am Malfoy." He grinned and bent down to kiss her lightly behind her ear. "Sure, our kids might get a bit confused, but with us as parents they are bound to be intelligent enough to figure it out."

Hermione's hands, which had been poised on his chest to push him away, froze. "Kids?"

"Well not now, obviously, but someday," he said, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes. He smiled slightly, but she could see the seriousness in his gaze. "I can't guarantee I won't be a terrible father, but I can promise not to attack our children's boyfriends and girlfriends."

She laughed breathlessly, still taken back by his seriousness.

His voice took on a wistful tone and he put his lips back near her ear to whisper, "Can you imagine them, Granger? Little boys and girls running on the grass outside. Reading to them, teaching them to play Quidditch …"

"You want kids," she said, slightly dazed.

"Only with you," he murmured against her skin.

"Why?"

"What?"

"I … I'm a Mudblood!" she said, trying to wrap her head around the situation. "Surely you don't want me sullying the Malfoy line, or whatever."

Malfoy looked down at her incredulously. "You think I care about that? Hell, I wouldn't even mind if they were Gryffindors." He put his hands on the door on either side of her, lowering his eyes to her level. "You're the best thing in my life, Granger and all I want is you," he said, perfectly serious.

Hermione swallowed hard, staring into those mesmerising silver depths. "Say yes, Love," he whispered. "I promise we will have a great life together if you do."

She shook her head slightly. "You can't know our future, and you know I hate divination."

He smiled. "Some things you do just _know_. For instance, I know if you refuse me now you will spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been."

"Malfoy …"

He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek, sending shivers through her. "What can I do to sweeten the deal for you, Granger?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Tell me what you want," he asked. "Your own private library? Wages and weekends off for the house-elves?"

Her frown turned into a full on glowering scowl. "You can't buy me Malfoy."

He tilted his head to one side and the light within his eyes suddenly became calculating.

"Then maybe I can convince you," he said in a determined voice.

His mouth came down to cover hers again, this time demanding that she respond to him. She gasped and he took advantage of her parted lips to ruthlessly deepen the kiss, pressing her body back against the balcony doors in a sinful way.

His hands, which hand been at her waist again, moved lower to circle her hips. With a single movement he lifted her up – with a slightly strangled cry against his lips, she wrapped her legs around his narrow waist, kissing him back with equal enthusiasm.

Looking back later, Hermione wasn't quite sure how exactly he had managed to get the balcony door open, but somehow she had felt warm air caress her skin and was being lowered down onto his bed with him on top of her, still kissing fiercely.

He started kissing his way down her throat, alternately nipping and tasting her skin, allowing her to draw in lungfuls of air.

"This … isn't fair," she gasped breathlessly.

He chuckled, his fingers getting to work on her buttons again. "I know."

"Malfoy, this is duress," she said, squirming as he dragged her earlobe between his teeth.

"That means its working," he said, his voice in her ear as rich as sinful as melted chocolate.

She groaned frustratedly and Malfoy bought his lips back to hover temptingly above her mouth. He brushed them teasingly against hers before drawing back a few inches, smiling a satisfied and purely masculine smile as she leant forward to prolong the touch.

"You're cheating, you know," she said, realising what she had just done.

"Slytherin," he reminded her, a scant inch away from her lips, his warm breath blowing over her lips as he languidly ran his fingertips over her bare stomach now that her shirt was lying open.

She moaned and arched into his touch as he teasingly bought his fingers to the edge of her bra. "How the hell did I fall in love with you, you lying, devious, scheming bastard?"

His fingers stilled as he froze all over. "Say it again," he whispered.

"_Bastard_," she said, fighting a smile.

"Please Granger, say it again," he said, staring down at her with eyes that had turned a deep, lustful black, but at the moment were very soft and filled with hope.

She took a deep breath and smiled shyly. "I love you."

His expression was elated as he bent down to brush his lips over hers. "Again."

"I love you."

"Now say my name," he ordered, nuzzling the side of her neck.

"I love you _Malfoy_," she said, laughing slightly.

He sat up, still straddling her hips and grinned down at her, wonder and satisfaction clear in his eyes.

"Stop looking so bloody smug," she said, hitting him on the chest.

"Can't help it," he said, grinning. "So is that a yes?"

"No, its not a yes!" She bit her lip as his euphoric expression darkened, reminding her of how gaunt he had looked when she had first arrived. "I have conditions."

"Conditions?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, conditions," she said, trying to keep her voice business like as hope returned to his eyes.

"Whatever it is, I'll do it," he promised, leaning forward to kiss her again.

"Malfoy, listen!" she said, stopping him with a finger over his mouth. "First of all, you have to be nice to Harry and Ron."

"You're not serious," he deadpanned.

"Of course I am."

He pulled a martyred expression. "Does that mean I can't fight back when they attack me from behind for corrupting their Gryffindor princess?"

"They wouldn't do that -"

"No, your right," he interrupted. "They'll probably wait till I'm facing them, then double-team me and attack together."

"Malfoy," she said simply, looking at him seriously.

His face twisted. "I suppose I can be … civil. If I try very hard."

"Civil it is then," she said, meeting him halfway.

"Anything else?" he asked interestedly.

"Yeah, no other women if your with me."

He scowled at her. "What the hell do you take me for?"

She shrugged. "I'm just saying, you did have a bit of a reputation at school."

He smirked at her, his eyes very bright with a wicked humour. "I can assure you, any and all rumours you have heard about my sexual prowess are true."

"How delightful," she murmured.

"And as for other women, Granger," he said, brushing his fingers tenderly over her cheek. "I love you, that means I don't want anyone else."

He kissed her softly, pressing her body back into the bed with his own.

"We're there any more conditions?" he asked after a long moment.

"No," she said, slightly dazed from his kiss. "I mean yes."

"Yes?" he breathed, his fingers tracing light patterns on her stomach.

She sighed, closing her eyes. "I'm sure there are, but I can't think right now."

He smiled smugly. "I have that affect on people."

"Still arrogant as ever," she said with mild exasperation.

"That's why you love me." He sat up properly, bringing her with him to that they were eye to eye. "So are you saying yes?"

She smiled happily. "Yes."

He grinned, scarcely able to hide his excitement. "I have something for you."

"You do?" she asked, tilting her head to one side, a habit she had unconsciously picked up from him.

He nodded and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a tiny velvet box. Her eyes focused on it as he held it in front of her and her breath caught.

They both looked into each others eyes for a moment, then she dropped her gaze to the box as Malfoy slowly opened it.

Nestled inside was the most gorgeous ring she had ever seen. It had a delicate silver band, turning into two filigree leaves each set with a tiny emerald which were wrapped around an ice-white diamond.

"It's a family heirloom," he said, staring at her as she gazed down at the ring, mesmerised.

Dazed, she looked from the ring into Malfoy's face. "I … are you asking me to marry you?"

He smirked slightly. "Would you say yes if I was?"

She looked back down at the beautiful ring. "I … but … we haven't even left school yet!" she exclaimed.

Malfoy plucked the ring from the box and held it between them. "Then let this just be a way of showing that you're mine." He said, his voice showing clearly that this was her choice, always her choice.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Because the Mark you gave me isn't enough?"

He smiled crookedly. "Have you forgiven me for that yet?"

She bit her lip, peeking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. "Not quite, but you know what they say, an eye for an eye …"

His breath caught as he realised the significance of what she was saying – a Veela Mate would also Mark its Veela, as well as the other way around.

"And a Mark for a Mark?" he asked, cautiously hopeful.

She nodded and he reached out to gently touch her face. "Granger, are you _sure_?" he whispered.

"Yes, I'm sure," she breathed.

She thought about all her indecision, about all the fuss she had made, it all seemed so silly now, since now that she was here, holding out her hand for him to slip the ring on her finger, she had never been more certain about anything in her life.

Turning her hand over, he lightly kissed her palm. "Love you, Granger," he said against her skin.

"Love you too, Malfoy," she said, closing her eyes as his mouth moved to her wrist, languorously kissing the sensitive skin there.

By the time he had got to her elbow, moving tortuously slowly, Hermione was trembling all over. She grabbed him and pulled him up to her, kissing him desperately. She felt him smile against her lips, and rolled them over so that now she was straddling him.

She moved her mouth to his neck, breathing in the scent of him as her lips traced down to his collar-bone.

"You know what to do?" he asked, his voice coming out slightly strangled.

She nodded. "I read up on Veelas," she said, her breath blowing out over his throat.

He chuckled. "Of course you did, Love." His arms tightened around her, and she knew now was the time.

Holding on to his strong shoulders, she took a deep breath – and then bit him.

He groaned, his hands moving beneath her unbuttoned shirt and up the bare skin of her back, sending tingles through her body.

"Say it, please," he growled into her hair.

"By this mark you are mine."


	12. Epilogue

"Do we have to?"

"Yes," Draco said firmly, stalking towards the Great Hall.

"But why?"

"Pansy, Granger is a big part of my life now and I want you to get to know her."

"_Why_?" she whined louder, letting him drag her along.

"Because you're my best friend, Pans," Draco said, casting a glance over his shoulder at the pouting girl.

"Can't she come sit with us?" she said as they walked between the tables, heading to the other side of the Hall for a change.

"Are you kidding? The Slytherins would tear her apart – or try to anyway," he said. "At least Pothead and the Weasel will _try_ to be civil."

Granger looked up at them as they approached and smiled. "Hey," she said softly, the sound of her voice making the Mark on his neck tingle.

"Hi," he replied, smiling foolishly as he bent to kiss her and take the empty seat she had saved at the Gryffindor table for him.

Pansy threw herself onto the bench next to him with bad grace, opposite the Weasel, who was glaring, muttering under her breath. The Gryffindors were all staring at them with looks of distrust as the silence stretched out awkwardly – Draco and Granger glanced at each other nervously, feeling the tension between their friends.

Eventually Potter cleared his throat, breaking the silence and turned to the Weaselette. "Ginny, did you get the message about when Quidditch tryouts are?"

Draco breathed a sigh of relief as conversation gradually started again without wands being drawn and reached for a piece of toast.

Weasley, who had been having a glowering contest with Pansy, suddenly said loudly, "I can understand why the Ferret is sitting with us, but what is _she_ doing here?"

"_She_ happens to be making an effort to get to know her best friends girlfriend," Pansy said acidly, making Draco smirk since he had practically dragged her here.

Weasley snorted contemptuously and Pansy stood up. "Draco, I'm going to sit over with the _nice_ people," she said, tossing her hair.

"Is that a Chudley Cannons badge?" Weasley demanded, his eyes on Pansy's cloak.

"What clever jibe are you going to use now, Weasel King?" she asked, her eyes hard. "Going to make fun of me because of what Quidditch team I support?"

"No, it's just …" Weasley was going very red, making his skin clash with his hair. "I support them too."

Pansy blinked at him. "Really?"

"Yeah, did you, umm, see the game over the summer?"

"That was embarrassing," she groaned.

"They only lost by 110 points."

"Still lost though," she pointed out, sitting down again. "Put them down to eleventh in the league."

"Would have gone better if Williams hadn't knocked out the Keeper with his beaters bat."

"What an idiot, I don't know why they let him on the team."

"That goal Tamela scored though – amazing!" Weasley said, gesturing widely with a piece of toast.

"I thought Keat's was better."

"Are you kidding?" It was …"

Draco and Granger glanced at each other again, both of them having been mesmerised by the Quidditch talk between the two proclaimed enemies, and smirked at each other.

* * *

"Welcome home, Granger," Malfoy said as they looked up at the Manor house.

Hermione smiled at him. "That's not my name anymore."

"We can't both be Malfoy," he pointed out, sweeping her feet out from under her and lifting her easily into his arms.

"That's what it says on the marriage certificate," she giggled as he strode up the steps.

"You will always be Granger to me," he drawled, carrying her over the threshold. "Mrs Malfoy."

* * *

"I can't believe I am going to be an uncle twice over."

Hermione suppressed a smile as Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose. "For the last time, Weasley, you are not going to be this baby's uncle," he drawled. "You are uncle to Potters baby since he is married to your sister, but you are not in any way related to my child."

Ron shrugged. "Hermione's like a sister to me though."

"That means I am too!" Harry said excitedly, rubbing Ginny's very pregnant belly. "Hermione's also like my sister, and I'm married to Ginny who is Ron's sister, so I'm doubly an uncle."

"Have I told you what idiots your friends are?" Malfoy whispered, running a hand over her flat stomach – she was only two months pregnant, and had only just told the others.

"On a daily basis," she said, smiling at her husband.

"I wonder what House he or she will be in," Pansy said musingly, nodding towards Hermione.

"With Malfoy as a father, definitely Slytherin," Hermione said.

"But you're the mother, so it could be Gryffindor," Ron pointed out.

"Houses aren't chosen based on parents or family relations," Hermione reminded him.

"Well you're both really clever, so I reckon Ravenclaw," Ginny said.

Harry grinned. "Anyone fancy a bet?"

* * *

"What about Paul?"

"Possibly," Draco said musingly. "That's your fathers name, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well its better than Lucius," he said. He and Granger were lying on one of the sofas in front of a roaring fire, talking about baby names. "How about Scorpius?"

She turned her head to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "What?" he said in response to her expression. "I think it sounds suitably regal."

"Harry?"

"What about him?"

"No, as a name," she said, smiling mischievously.

"I am not naming my child after Harry Potter."

"Ron then?" she asked lightly.

"No," he said firmly. "You have an odd sense of humour."

"Part of my charm," she smiled.

"What about Alexis?"

She was silent for a moment, thinking it over. "I like that one."

"You know, we have only been talking about boy names."

Granger lightly touched his cheek. "I know what you would want to call her if she was a girl, and I'm fine with that."

Draco smiled, loving how his wife was practically able to read his mind sometimes. "I love you."

"Love you too, Malfoy."

* * *

"Mr Malfoy?"

"Yes?" he said, looking up from the wound he was dressing for a man who had been attacked by a firecrab.

John Bates, one of the Healers he worked with, was standing in the door of the treatment room, a goofy smile on his face.

"Your wife is in labour."

* * *

"Congratulations," the Healer said, gently passing him a tiny bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. "It's a girl."

"A girl," he breathed, suffused with happiness as he stared down into his daughters face. Her fine baby hair was pale gold and wispy and, though her face was currently scrunched up crying, Draco didn't think he had ever seen anything so beautiful.

He walked slowly over to Granger, who sat up. She looked exhausted, her wild hair clinging to her neck and cheeks, but happy. He sat down next to her and she bent over the baby.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice full of wonder and tears as she lightly touched her daughters face. "I'm your mummy."

Draco lifted his eyes to hers just as she did and they stared at each other for a long moment, both of them feeling the love and joy for their family.

Granger smiled. "I didn't mean the things I said, you know."

He grinned back, remembering what she had shouted at him while she had been in labour. "You mean the bit where you said you were going to hex my balls off?"

"Yeah, that bit," she laughed.

"It's okay," he said. The baby in his arms gurgled, having stopped crying. "She's beautiful," he whispered.

"I know."

They suddenly heard voices outside the door. "Knock knock?" Mrs Granger said, poking her head around the door. "Can we come in?"

Their friends and family all filed into the room, clearly all suppressing excitement. Harry and Ron both rushed over to Granger, hugging her, while Ginny held a sleeping James Potter, who was just over six months now, against her chest. Pansy looked a little unsure about where she should go and eventually settled for grinning at Granger, but staying next to her sister-in-law as their husbands fussed over their best friend.

Narcissa stepped forward, quickly followed by the Grangers and Draco stood up. "I'd like to introduce you to your grandchild," he said as they crowded around.

"Oh, she's _lovely_," Mrs Granger cooed, smiling beatifically.

His mother raised her gaze from the baby in his arms, her eyes full of tears. "I'm so proud of you, Draco," she said softly, her voice full of love.

"She definitely looks like a Gryffindor," Ron said, having eventually come to look at the baby.

"Are you kidding?" Draco said, rocking his daughter slightly. "She's gorgeous, she's all Slytherin."

"Because Gryffindors aren't attractive?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.

"She will quickly realise that a single smile will get her anything she wants in life," he said, gazing down at her. "She'll be a little heartbreaker and manipulator."

"Does she have a name yet?" Mr Granger asked.

Draco glanced at Granger, who smiled and nodded. He then looked around the room, lingering last on his mother.

"Everyone," he said, "This is Lyra."

* * *

"Malfoy?" Hermione said, standing in the doorway of the nursery.

"Hmm?" he said as he gently lay Lyra down in her crib. She was just over two years old now.

"I'm pregnant again."

* * *

"James Potter, you give that back right _now_!"

"I just want to see what you're reading, Lala," James said, holding the book out of Lyra's reach as he read the cover."

"It's nothing, now give it _back_!" she snarled, her wild platinum curls bouncing as she jumped for her book.

"Goblin Rebellions?" he laughed, reading the title. "How boring."

"It's not boring!" she said, still trying to get the book back."

"Come on Lala, reach," he taunted playfully.

Lyra suddenly stopped fighting and blinked up at him with her big silver eyes. "Why won't you give it back, James?" she said in a soft voice.

Wordlessly, James handed over the book and Lyra took it, running away giggling as he blinked after her, stunned.

The adults, sitting on the lawn of Malfoy Manor, had been watching with interest.

"Told you, a little manipulator," Draco said, smirking at the sight of the little black haired boy, so like his father, looking dreamily after his daughter.

"Nah, if she was a future Slytherin she would have just stamped on his foot and taken it," Ron said.

Ginny was smiling. "Poor James, he doesn't quite know what hit him."

"Huh?" James said to his mother, roused by the sound of his name.

"Nothing," Ginny said.

He frowned with all the seriousness of a nine year old. "What were you talking about?"

"What House Lyra will be in at school," Harry said.

James snorted, not realising that Lyra had come up behind him. "She'll be in Hufflepuff."

"Will not!" she exclaimed right into his ear, making him flinch.

"Will too!" he retorted, recovering quickly.

"I'm going to be in Gryffindor," Alexis Malfoy said proudly, making Harry and Ron grin.

"If you are I will disinherit you," Draco said dismissively.

"Malfoy, you said you wouldn't care if they were Gryffindors," Granger said, frowning as she held the newest baby.

"Did I?" he said lightly. "I was trying to seduce you at the time so I would have said anything."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress a smile.

"What House do you want to be in Lyra?" Harry asked her, distracting her from the glaring contest she was having with James – the two children were best friends, but still bickered constantly.

"She'll be in Gryffindor with me," Alexis said confidently.

Draco leaned over and took the sleeping baby from Grangers arms. "Looks like Draco Junior will be getting all the inheritance then," he said in a fake conspiratorial voice to his son, who merely gurgled in his sleep.

* * *

"It's not fair."

"Its only two years Alexis, then you will be going," Hermione said soothingly as they made their way through Kings Cross.

"Two years," Alexis grumbled, glaring at his sister who was looking both nervous and excited in her new Hogwarts uniform; she had insisted on wearing it, even through muggle London and Malfoy had let her – she had her father wrapped around her little finger.

"You should feel sorry for your brother," Hermione pointed out. "Draco still has seven years to wait."

Alexis glanced at his four year old brother, who stuck his tongue out at him.

They made their way through the barrier at Platform Nine and Three Quarters and when Alexis saw the scarlet steam engine he started muttering mutinously under his breath again.

"Look, there's James!" Lyra said, pointing over at the Potters.

James, who was about to start his second year, detached himself from his parents and ran over, still dressed in his muggle clothes of jeans and a t-shirt.

"Nervous?" he asked Lyra, grinning.

"No," she said petulantly.

"Don't worry Lala, I'll look after you," he said, only slightly teasing.

"I don't need you to look after me, James," she said, sounding quite regal. "And you will _not_ call me Lala once we get to school."

"Why not? It's your name," he said, frowning.

"It's your silly nickname for me – promise me you won't use it."

"Sure thing," he grinned. "Lala."

"James!"

"You said once we got to school!"

Malfoy arrived with Lyra's case and the bickering children left to find a compartment before coming back to say their goodbyes.

Alexis refused to say goodbye to his sister, but everyone else gave them both hugs and kisses.

Malfoy swung Lyra up into his arms, like he had done when she was little and hugged her tightly. "Now remember," he said, his grey eyes twinkling. "Don't mess with Peeves, stay out of the forbidden forest and try not to dazzle too many boys with your Veela genes – at least not until seventh year."

"Dad!" she said, sounding slightly annoyed at being treated like a little girl in front of all her new peers.

"Lyra?" Alexis said suddenly and she turned towards him. "You will write to me, won't you?" he asked in a very small voice.

She hugged her brother. "Every week," she promised. "I'll write tonight, if you like, and let you know what house I'm in."

"Definitely Gryffindor," Alexis said firmly.

"I agree – and I guess we find out the results of our bet tonight," Harry said.

"I still think Ravenclaw," Ginny said.

James snorted. "Hufflepuff," he said, earning a death glare from Lyra.

Malfoy remained silent – Lyra caught his eye and she smirked when he winked at her.

* * *

Later that evening Draco was sitting in the Library with Granger when they heard a strangled yell from upstairs.

"Was that Alexis?" Granger asked worriedly, making to stand up.

Draco grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back down against him. "Probably, and if it's what I think it is, he will be coming to see us any second now."

"You think it's a letter from Lyra?" she deduced, a slow smile spreading across her face.

Before he could reply the Library door banged open and Alexis stormed in, his golden hair all over his face and a scrap of parchment clenched in his hand.

"Look, look!" he said, trusting it at them.

Granger took it and smoothed it out. A single word was written in emerald green ink.

_Slytherin._

"That's my girl," Draco said, smiling. "Now, how much do Potter and Weasley owe us?"

_FINIS_

* * *

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